My teenage daughter's stepfather regularly took her out for ice cream late at night – When I watched the dashcam footage, I had to sit down

I paused the video to watch it.

Mike opened the door and approached to speak to Vivian. She entered alone.

Mike leaned against the building, checked his phone, paced back and forth, then returned to the car.

Twenty minutes have passed.

Then 30.

I remained frozen at the kitchen table, my hands numb, my thoughts spiraling. The images showed nothing wrong, but they didn't show enough to reassure me.

She entered alone.

What kind of place was open that late? And why would Mike have lied about it?

When Vivian came back outside, Mike opened the car door for her again. On the way home, her reflection was briefly visible in the windshield when she laughed at something he said.

I closed the laptop and stood there in the dark, staring at my reflection in the black screen.

I didn't sleep that night.

By morning, the sequence had replayed itself so many times in my head that I almost thought I had imagined some parts of it.

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