Chapter 10 - My mother had almost stopped the house from becoming a prison—and Jeremy made fear sound like love
The messages continued for months.
Mom had kept them because she rarely deleted anything from family chats.
After Ryan’s death, she spiraled.
Her texts to Jeremy were raw.
I can’t sleep if I can’t see their beds.
What if Claire becomes like him?
Autumn locks the bathroom when she cries. I panic when I hear the latch.
These were not the messages of a mother enjoying control.
They were the messages of someone traumatized and untreated.
That did not reduce the harm.
It changed the emotional truth.
Jeremy’s responses were always certain.
Remove the locks.
Visibility is safety.
A child asking for privacy is asking to control what adults know.
Ryan proved secrecy can kill.
Then, six months later, Mom wrote:
Therapist says maybe we need to restore normal rooms gradually.
Jeremy:
Therapists didn’t save Ryan.
Mom:
She says the girls need boundaries.
Jeremy:
Boundaries are how people hide.
Mom:
I don’t know.
Jeremy:
You do know. You buried a son.
That message made Mom cry for hours when she reread it.
Jeremy had found the sentence capable of shutting down every doubt.
You buried a son.
After that, contractors removed another interior wall.
The house became more open.
He did not invent Mom’s grief.
He weaponized it.
Dad’s messages were different.
Practical.
Take down Claire’s curtain if she keeps hiding behind it.
Check Autumn’s school bag. She’s been quiet.
Jeremy often encouraged escalation.
Dad usually agreed.
The record was painful because it prevented easy categories.
My parents were not passive puppets.
They made choices.
Jeremy influenced those choices.
Both were true.
Then something unexpected appeared.
One message from Dad to Jeremy:
Stop taking pictures. Diane? Mom's name? We called Mother not named. Let's name Mother Laura and Father Michael perhaps? But throughout we kept Mother/Father. Okay.
Stop taking pictures. The girls hate it.
Dated seven months before we were removed.
Jeremy replied:
Documentation is the only thing protecting us if Claire makes accusations.
Dad:
Then document incidents in writing.
Jeremy:
Photos are objective.
Dad:
No more.
I stared when Dana showed us.
Dad had told him to stop.
That mattered.
“Did Jeremy?”
“No.”
So Dad was negligent, dismissive, and deeply complicit in removing privacy—but he had explicitly rejected photography months before the crisis.
That distinction would matter legally.
Then another message.
Jeremy to Mom:
Michael says no more photos. He’s getting soft.
Mom:
Then stop taking them.
Jeremy:
Fine.
He lied to both parents.
Again, their ideology enabled him.
But some of his later conduct violated even their warped rules.
This mattered to Autumn more than it did to me.
“Mom told him to stop?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she act like it was normal when the social worker came?”
Because she may not have known he continued.
At the removal scene, Mom saw Jeremy seated in the open house, not his private phone library.
At court, when he displayed photos, she initially assumed they were the same limited “safety documentation” Dad had reluctantly tolerated earlier.
The more complete forensic timeline showed many images were taken after the stop instruction.
Mom’s culpability changed shape.
She created unsafe conditions.
Ignored verbal warnings.
But she had not knowingly approved every image.
I watched Autumn absorb this.
“Does that mean she believed us?”
“No,” I said.
“Eventually?”
I did not know.
Then Mom requested to meet Autumn alone in supervised therapy.
Autumn said no.
Mom accepted.
That acceptance mattered more than tears.
A week later she sent a letter through Dr. Harlow.
Not asking forgiveness.
It said:
I kept saying your brother died because I could not see him. I am beginning to understand that seeing someone is not the same as knowing them. I could see you every day and still refused to know you were afraid.
Autumn read it twice.
Then folded it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think it’s better than saying sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because sorry is easy.”
She was fourteen and already understood something adults spent decades avoiding.
Meanwhile, Jeremy’s criminal investigation narrowed around conduct that could actually be proven. Authorities were careful not to turn every creepy or controlling behavior into a charge unsupported by law. Certain recordings and images, however, raised serious privacy and exploitation concerns and were referred for prosecution review. His prior employment history remained contextual rather than proof of current crimes.
Family court did not wait for criminal outcomes.
Different standards.
Different purpose.
The question there was safety.
Then investigators recovered one deleted voice memo from Jeremy’s phone.
Recorded the week before the hearing where he sought guardianship.
He appeared to be practicing testimony.
“Claire is escalating. She is violent when boundaries are enforced. Autumn follows her lead. Parents are emotionally compromised. I am the only neutral adult who understands the risk.”
Neutral.
The man photographing us called himself neutral.
Then the recording continued.
“If the court grants me overnight authority, they will adjust within two weeks. Resistance disappears when there is no alternative.”
Autumn looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
It was not only about watching.
It was about breaking resistance.
Then a second voice entered the recording.
My father.
Not physically present; speakerphone.
Dad said:
“I’m not giving you authority over them.”
Jeremy replied:
“You already did.”
Dad:
“No.”
Jeremy laughed.
Then said:
“You think they’re going to forgive you once they realize what Ryan wrote?”
Dad went silent.
“What do you mean?”
Jeremy answered:
“Ask Claire what was on the second card.”
Second card.
We knew about only one SD card hidden in the guitar.
May you like
Ryan had copied more than one.
Cliffhanger: Jeremy revealed Ryan made a second hidden copy of his evidence—and whatever was on it was serious enough that Jeremy believed Claire’s father would fear his daughters seeing it.
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