My 7-Year-Old Daughter and Her Dad Started Having ‘Private Talks’ in the Garage – So I Set Up a Hidden Camera and Immediately Regretted It

Every afternoon, my husband and my 7-year-old daughter would have “private talks” in the garage behind locked doors. The stillness that followed became too deafening to ignore.

I’m thirty-five. My husband, Jason, is 37. Our daughter, Lizzie, is seven.

Jason has always been an active father.Hello, little one. Garage time?”

School events. Bedtime stories. Hair brushing. Tea parties on the floor. He does it all, without me asking.

He showed up every day without complaint.

So when the garage thing started, I tried not to be paranoid.

Lizzie’s rucksack was half open when she first arrived home from school.

Jason cleaned his hands with a dish towel. “Hey, little one. Garage time?”

Her eyes brightened up. “Garage time!”

They stayed out there around 40 minutes.

I looked up from my laptop. “What’s garage time?”

He grinned. “Private discussions. You’re not invited.” “Yup, you’re not invited, Mom.”

They laughed and walked to the garage. The door shut. I heard the lock click. The ancient radio came on.

I figured it was some father-daughter game. Cute, whatever.

I heard the radio switch on.

They stayed out there around 40 minutes. When they came back in, Lizzie had a big smile on her face. Jason took a Coke as if nothing had occurred.

Next day, same thing. “Garage time!”

I heard the radio turn on.You’ll see.”

My chest felt constricted by the third day.

“So what’s going on in these private talks?” I asked that evening as we were doing the dishes.

Jason shrugged. “Just hanging out. Talking.” “About what?”

He grinned. “Private discussions. You’ll see.”

I tried Lizzie at bedtime.

After that, I observed things. “What do you and Daddy talk about in the garage?” I said.

She rolled toward me. “Private chats, Mom. You’re not invited.”

Same words. Same tone. Like a line she’d memorised.

That’s when the knot in my stomach truly started.

After that, I observed things.

The garage window was covered from the inside with a sheet.

Jason didn’t immediately answer when I knocked.

The light was constantly on when they were in there.

The radio was always just loud enough that I couldn’t hear voices. Only muted music.

If I walked down the corridor, the radio seemed to get louder.

Jason didn’t immediately answer when I knocked. I’d hear a scratch, something moving.

Then the door would crack open and he’d stand in the frame, obstructing my view. “He would enquire, “What do you need?”

I grew raised in a house full of secrets. “Just checking in.” “We’re good. Be out soon.”

Lizzie would peep around him. “Hi, Mom! We’re busy!”

She looked happy. Not afraid. Not tense.

And the knot remained in place.

I grew up in a house full of mysteries. Affairs, lies, everyone faking. My brain is programmed to expect the worse.

I opened the door and turned on the light.

Jason had never given me a reason not to trust him. However, once uncertainty was established, it grew like mould.

One afternoon, he went to the store. Lizzie was in her room playing.

I paused in front of the garage door, pulse hammering.

I decided to just have a look. Nothing more. Just to calm down.

I opened the door and turned on the light.

The garage appeared typical. Hooks with tools. Dusty boxes and bikes. Old pram. The middle rug was stained. The radio on a metal table.

Out in the hallway, I heard a noise.

The entire space felt enclosed and clandestine because of the covered glass.

My stomach flipped.

I walked to the closet in our bedroom and took out a little Wi-Fi camera that we had previously used as a baby monitor. My hands wouldn’t quit shaking. I knew if I got discovered doing this, there’d be a rift in the family for a long time.

Back in the garage, I shifted a stack of storage bins a couple of inches and put the camera high in the corner, half-hidden. Out in the hallway, I heard a noise.

It also seemed like the only way I could fall back asleep.

I froze and waited for another. The garage door was open just a crack. I knew if I moved an inch, I’d be caught.

I heard Lizzie hum as she hopped closer. She paused near the open door, and I slipped behind a box. After a few breathless seconds, I heard the door close and her muffled humming continue down the hall.

I looked at the feed on my phone. The majority of the room was visible to me.

I ducked out of the garage and concealed the cord.

It felt wrong. It also seemed like the only way I could fall back asleep.

I launched the app.

Jason glanced at Lizzie that evening during dinner.Garage time?” “Garage time!” she yelled.

They strolled up the corridor. The door closed. Lock made a click. Radio on.

I launched the app.

The video loaded.

A secret door.

Jason walked into frame, bent, and grasped the edge of the rug.

He rolled it back.

Underneath was a square shape in the concrete with a metal ring in the center.

I froze.

He lifted by hooking his fingers through the ring.

A secret door.

I thought I would throw up.

Narrow stairs plunged down into darkness.

He turned to Lizzie. Above the music, I could just make out his words:Remain here. I’ll discuss it.

He disappeared down the stairs.

I thought I would throw up.

A few seconds later, he walked back up carrying a large flat parcel covered in brown paper.

He tore open the paper.

He laid it on the table and cranked the radio up even higher. The sound on my phone went to music and static.

He tore open the paper.

Inside were balls of yarn, knitting needles and a folded jumper.

He lifted the jumper and laid it flat on the table.

It was pink, kid-sized, a touch bumpy.

My hand flew to my mouth.

Uneven letters were written in purple yarn over the front: “I have the world’s greatest mother.

My hand flew to my mouth.

Lizzie got atop a folding chair and leaned over it, beaming.

Jason sat alongside her and pulled out another jumper, bigger, still on the needles.

She laughed so hard she nearly fell off the chair when he muttered something I didn’t understand.

For almost an hour, they remained in that state.

I increased the volume on my phone a bit more.

He showed her how to wrap the yarn, how to correct a mistake. His motions were confident. This wasn’t new to him.

She mirrored him, forehead wrinkled, tongue sticking out.

She occasionally raised the pink jumper. He’d pretend to be blinded by its greatness.

For almost an hour, they remained in that state. knitting. Speaking and laughing.How were your private talks?”

When they finished, he wrapped everything back in paper, disappeared down the stairs with it, and closed the hidden entrance. The rug went back. The room looked normal again.

By the time they left the garage, my phone was on the coffee table, facedown. “How were your private talks?” I asked, hoping I sounded casual. “”The best,” Lizzie remarked.

Jason grinned. “Still top secret.”

I opened the app again.

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that jumper.

The next time they went into the garage, I tried not to watch.

Then my thoughts murmured, What if you were mistaken about what you saw?

I opened the app again.

Same routine. Rug your back. Open the door. Brown packaging.

When he opened it this time, more bits were within.

Jason chuckled and demonstrated the solution for her.

Jason had a grey jumper, adult-sized, almost finished. The lettering across the front weren’t complete, but I could read enough: “I have the world’s greatest wife.”

Lizzie was wearing a green jumper. The phrase mirrored the pink one: “I have the best mum in the world.”

She botched up a stitch, moaned, dropped the needles. Jason chuckled and demonstrated the solution for her.

I observed them like that every “garage time” for the next two weeks.

Initially, to comfort myself.

Lizzie landed on my legs when I woke up.

Then, because I couldn’t stop.

They were extremely nice with each other. So thrilled. So typical.

In the meantime, I was the one monitoring them from behind a screen while lying and creeping.

Then my birthday came.

I woke up to Lizzie landing on my legs. “Happy birthday, Mom!” she yelled. “Okay, kiddo. Go get it.”

Jason came next, carrying a platter of coffee and pancakes. “Happy birthday,” he said, giving me a forehead kiss.

We ate in bed. I received a card from Lizzie that had “MOM” written three times and uneven hearts.

Then Jason said, “Okay, youngster. Go get it.”

Lizzie gasped and raced out.

She came back pulling a big box covered in brilliant paper. “Open it! Open it!”

Jason laid it in my lap. “I have the world’s greatest mother.

My chest was already tense, knowing what was within and pretending I didn’t.

I opened the lid and ripped the paper.

On top was the pink jumper.

Up close, it was even wonderful. Uneven stitching. letters that are crooked. One sleeve longer than the other. “I have the world’s greatest mother.

My eyes overflowed.

Under the pink one was the grey sweater. “Do you like it?” Lizzie said, jumping. “We worked so hard. Dad told me it was alright even though I kept making mistakes.I answered, “I adore it.” My voice broke. “I love it so much.”Keep going,” Jason said.

Under the pink one was the grey jumper.

Adult-sized. Soft.

Across the front, in white yarn: “I am the best mom and wife.” “We know you’d never say that about yourself. So we did it for you.”

I laughed through the tears. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason grinned and shrugged. “We know you’d never say it about yourself,” he responded. “So we did it for you.”

I felt a stab of shame at that, but I kept a straight face.

Lizzie reached back into the box and picked out the green sweater. “It said, “I have the best mum in the world.”Jason held up the blue one and stated, “And this one’s mine.” “I have the best wife in the world.”

Lizzie insisted we all put them on right away.

I used both hands to clean my face. “You two are ridiculous,” I said. “And I love you.”

Lizzie insisted we all put them on right away.

As she posed us, bossy and proud, we sat on the bed in matching sweaters, far too warm, and took pictures.

Later, when she went to her room, Jason and I were in the kitchen. “I tugged at the hem of my jumper and replied, “You never told me you could knit.”

He rinsed a plate. “My grandma taught me when I was a teenager,” stated the man. “I liked it.”I don’t want her thinking some pastimes are off-limits.” “So why’d you stop?”

He shrugged. “My dad found out. that it wasn’t “manly.” I quit because I was tired of hearing it.

I felt a fierce anger on his behalf. “Then Lizzie had that knitting thing at school,” he continued. “She came home talking a mile a minute. Asked if we could make you something. I figured… I don’t want her thinking some hobbies are off-limits. And I kind of missed it.” “”And the garage?” I enquired.

He laughed. “Where else were we supposed to hide it?”

As soon as the door closed, I went to the garage.

I nodded, throat tight.

He gave me a quick look. “You okay? You seem a little stressed today.” “I’m… I’m good,” I said.

He brought Lizzie out for ice cream that afternoon.

As soon as the door closed, I went to the garage.

I closed the door and switched on the light.

I could tell him.

I pushed the storage bins to the corner and extended my hand.

My fingers found the camera.

I disconnected it. The small light went out.

For a second, I just stood there, clutching it.

I could tell him. I could apologise. I could explain my worry, my childhood, my worst-case-scenario mentality.

We cuddled up in our sweaters on the couch that evening.

But I pictured his expression as he talked about his dad insulting him. About wanting better for Lizzie. About doing something nice and calm for me.

“My wife thought I might be hurting our daughter” was what I imagined layering on top of it.

I placed the camera into my pocket, turned off the light, and went back inside.

We cuddled up in our sweaters on the couch that evening.

Lizzie fell asleep with her head in my lap, green yarn bunched under her cheek.

He traced the lettering on my jumper with his thumb.

Jason put his hand on my knee and extended his legs.

He traced the phrases on my sweater with his thumb. “Best mum and wife’, he added quietly. “You know that’s true, right?”

I covered his hand with mine. “I’m trying to,” I said.

A few weeks before, I was standing in this identical house, viewing a grainy film, ready to witness something that would shatter my life.

I’m not proud I planted a camera.

Instead, I saw my husband and daughter in a frigid garage, knitting proof that they love me.

I’m not proud I planted a camera.

But now, when Lizzie holds his hand and says, “Private talks in the garage, Dad?” and they grin at each other, the panic doesn’t come back.

I can still clearly recall what was actually going on behind the door when I felt the jumper against my flesh.