At 30,000 Feet, I Watched My Wife Crawl Across the Floor With Both Legs in Casts While My Mother Hid Her Crutches—Then I Noticed What Was Recording Behind Them

Once.

Twice.

On the third viewing, I stopped looking at my mother.

And noticed the small black object above the pantry door.

A camera.

My stomach dropped.

I knew that camera.

I had installed it myself six years earlier after my father fell while home alone.