An eight-year-old girl sleeps alone, but every morning she complains that her bed feels “too small.” When her mother checks the security camera at 2 a.m., she breaks down in silent tears…
THE BED THAT FELT TOO SMALL AT 2 A.M.
My name is Laura Mitchell.
My family lives in a quiet two-story house in the suburbs of San Jose, California—a place that’s filled with light during the day, but at night becomes so silent you can hear the ticking of the clock echoing from the living room.
My husband and I have one child, a daughter named Emily. She’s eight years old.
From the beginning, we agreed we would have only one child.
Not because we were selfish.
Not because we feared hardship.
But because we wanted to give her everything we possibly could.
The house, valued at nearly $780,000, was something we bought after more than ten years of saving. We opened Emily’s college fund when she was still a baby. I had even planned her university path before she could read properly.
Above all, I wanted to teach her independence.
A little girl who slept alone from an early age
When Emily was still in preschool, I taught her to sleep in her own room.
Not because I didn’t love her. On the contrary—I loved her enough to understand that a child can’t grow if she always clings to an adult’s arms.
Emily’s room was the nicest in the house.
— A two-meter-wide bed with a premium mattress that cost nearly $2,000
— Shelves full of storybooks and comics
— Stuffed animals carefully arranged
— A soft, warm yellow nightlight
Every night I read her a story, kissed her forehead, and turned off the light.
Emily was never afraid to sleep alone.
Until… one morning.
“Mom, my bed felt really tight last night…”
That morning, while I was making breakfast, Emily came out after brushing her teeth, wrapped her arms around my waist, and said in a sleepy voice:
“Mom… I didn’t sleep well last night.”
I turned and smiled.
“Why not?”
Emily frowned, thought for a moment, then said:
“My bed felt… really tight.”
I laughed.
“Your bed is two meters wide and you sleep alone—how could it feel tight? Or did you forget to tidy up and your stuffed animals and books took all the space?”
Emily shook her head.
“No, Mom. I left it clean.”
I stroked her hair, thinking it was just a child’s complaint.
But I was wrong.
The repeated words that unsettled me
Two days later.
Then three.
Then an entire week.
Every morning Emily said something similar:
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