My Stepdad Put A Camera In My Room And My Mom Called Me A Liar. I Ran To The “Creepy” Neighbor For Help, But No One Expected What Was Waiting For Us. Who Was The Real Monster All Along?
A Failed Cry for Help
That night, Mom and Jeff sat me down for a talk. They said Thomas was trying to destroy our family, that I should never go near him again, and that I should always trust my stepdad because he wants what’s best for me. I didn’t believe a word, though, because all I could think about was how Thomas saved me.
So the next day, when I found Thomas walking his dog, the words just spilled out of me.
“Jeff does things. He touches me and…”
“I know,” Thomas said quietly. “I’ve been documenting everything.”
He then took me to the police station to report it. But when we walked in, things didn’t go our way at all. Instead of the police officers listening to a child telling them that their stepdad was touching her, they laughed. They looked at Thomas and told him:
“Stop manipulating this young girl. Jeff Morrison coaches softball. He runs a charity thrift store. He’d never do that. You, on the other hand… it seems fitting given your past why you’re here with this little girl.”
I tried to speak up to defend Thomas and explain my truth, but a woman officer actually led me away and interviewed me. She didn’t ask about my stepdad; she asked about Thomas. And no amount of explaining got through to her. They sent us both out of the station, but only after threatening to arrest Thomas if he made another report.
The police must have called Jeff right after we left because when I got home, both he and Mom were waiting in the living room. Mom’s face was red with fury as she grabbed my shoulders and shook me.
“Do you know what people will say? Jeff’s reputation could be ruined because of you.”
I saw him behind her, staring at me with his hand on his trousers. That night, he came into my room. I won’t describe what happened, but when he finally left, I could barely move. I lay there for an hour, maybe two, too traumatized to speak, cry, or do anything.
The Escape
Then, when they were finally asleep, I did something I’d never done before. I opened my window as quietly as possible and climbed out. I had to get help. I limped across the dark yard to Thomas’ house and knocked softly on his back door.
And when he opened it, that’s when I saw them. His two daughters on the couch in the living room, covered in bruises. My heart stopped. The bruises on their arms and legs looked fresh—purple and yellow marks that made my stomach turn. Fear crashed through me like ice water. Was Thomas hurting them too? Had I just escaped one monster to run straight to another?
The older girl, maybe seven, saw me first. Her eyes went wide, and she jumped up from the couch, rushing toward me. I stumbled backward, ready to run. But then she spoke.
“Dad, is she okay? She’s bleeding.”
The younger one, probably five, scrambled after her sister.
“She looks hurt bad, Daddy. Like we did when Mommy…”
“Girls, go to your room,” Thomas said quickly, but his voice stayed gentle.
They hesitated, looking between me and their father with worried faces.
“But Dad, she needs help like we did,” the older one insisted. “Remember when you found us at Mom’s?”
“And Alexander, please take your sister upstairs. I’ll help her.”
The girls reluctantly headed for the stairs, but not before the younger one grabbed my hand.
“It’s okay. Our dad saves people. He saved us from Mommy.”
Their words spun in my head as Thomas carefully helped me to the couch. My legs shook so bad I could barely stand. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders, then sat in a chair across from me, keeping distance between us.
“I need to call an ambulance,” he said, reaching for his phone.
“No,” the word ripped out of me. “They’ll send me back. Mom won’t believe me. The police already think you’re lying.”
Thomas set the phone down slowly. His hands trembled slightly.
“Your injuries need…”
“Your daughters,” I interrupted, needing to understand. “Those bruises. Did you… their mother did that?”
His voice turned hard, but not at me.
“She’s had them for the past 3 months. They called me crying 2 days ago. Said she’d been drinking again, getting violent. I drove 4 hours and found them locked in a closet.”
