How did Sadie get this? Why?

She pauses the video, trying to guess the vantage point. Was Sadie actually in the room with her? Or was she filming from the next room, silent and stealthy, that adjoining door just slightly ajar?

She scans forward, her heart starting to race. Maeve from overhead, from some high window, as she fights through the snow. A skip; static. Maeve in the lobby, lost in thought on the floor. Legs wide open, folding over into a stretch. Another skip. There’s no rhyme or reason to the footage, and Maeve realizes they’re almost incidental, hurriedly picked up whenever Sadie had the camera. Whenever she had a chance. Justin was so accustomed to his SD cards that he never noticed what Sadie was saving to the camera itself. Or he didn’t care.

For a second, she wonders if she’s wrong, if Justin took the videos himself the same way he took hate-footage of Anna.

On-screen, a door opens to a darkened room and the camera moves slowly inside. Everything is gray or dark gray. A streak of moonlight from the window lights the way; there’s a muffled sound, movement. But then there’s Sadie’s black, bone-straight hair falling down her back, her slim shoulder, her hip—she’s caught herself, accidentally, in the vanity mirror, camera in hand. A slow turn. Her lovely, strong cheekbones. Her lips.

The camera lifts and focuses on the mirror frame: Maeve’s own little photo strip. Maeve and the kids. Across the room then, to Maeve herself, in bed. Asleep. She stirs as though a dream has disturbed her, and the screen goes black.

Sadie was in her room.

All those nights with Iain outside her window. Watching. Maeve feels like she might vomit. She thinks of herself, just a few moments ago, using the privacy of her assigned room to have a good cry. Privacy? It’s as though she were onstage the whole time. Her every move before an audience; she just didn’t know it. She scans forward, watching herself in fast motion: in the hall by her room, down in the lobby, walking in the snow. Once, the Minnie Mouse voice of someone talking, close to the mic. Maeve slows the film down to regular speed. It’s Karo’s voice she hears, at the very end of the clip: What are you doing there? Be careful.

Then another room. It’s dark and hard to see, but Maeve’s there, parading from end to end. Peeling away her clothes.

The lights come up, sudden and bright. She’s standing naked, Sim crossing the room to meet her. It’s his room the night of the party—the blank canvas leaned up against the wall reflecting light like a photographer’s softbox. He reaches for her, a hand at her belly, her scar.

Looks into the camera, and winks.