I didn't confront Celeste that night.

People who lie for a living rarely confess when they're cornered.

They simply become better actors.

Instead, I locked the evidence bag inside my office safe and called someone I trusted more than anyone else—Dr. Elaine Foster, the pediatric specialist who had treated Noah years earlier.

She agreed to examine the contents of the chocolate cup independently.

The next morning, Noah seemed calmer, but every few hours he doubled over, clutching his stomach and whispering the same heartbreaking words.

"It's moving again..."

Celeste played the perfect wife.

She made breakfast.

She kissed Noah's forehead.

She even cried when she thought I was watching.

But Mara was watching too.

Late that afternoon, she approached me with tears in her eyes.

"Mr. Vale... there's something I never told you."

My heartbeat slowed.

"Tell me."

"I saw Mrs. Celeste in the kitchen three different times after everyone had gone to bed."

"Doing what?"

"She always carried Noah's blue cup."

Mara swallowed hard.

"And every time she heard someone coming... she hid whatever she was doing."

She handed me another item.

A flash drive.

"I installed a small camera in the kitchen after Noah kept getting sick. I thought maybe food was spoiling."

My hands trembled as I plugged it into my laptop.

The footage showed Celeste entering the kitchen at 2:14 a.m.

She looked over both shoulders.

Then she picked up Noah's favorite blue cup.

She removed a tiny packet from her pocket.

The camera couldn't reveal exactly what was inside the packet—but it clearly showed her adding something to the chocolate before carefully stirring it and placing the cup back exactly where Noah would find it the next morning.

She smiled.

Then walked away.

For the first time...

I had proof that Noah's suffering had never been imaginary.

And Celeste had been hiding something all along.

The police were called before sunrise.

But I wasn't prepared for what investigators would discover next.