After a week of hearing my baby giggling in his room in the middle of the night—and finding absolutely nothing when I checked—I finally set up a Wi-Fi monitor to see what was really happening while I was alone in the house.

I’m 35F, American, single mom to my son, Edduin.

And yes, I terrified myself with a baby monitor.

A little over a year ago, my whole life fell apart.

My husband, John, kissed me goodbye one morning, coffee in one hand, car keys in the other.

“I’ll be home early,” he said, patting my very pregnant belly. “You two better miss me.”

He never made it home.