My Celebrity Husband Refused My Emergency C-Section To Save A $5M Streaming Deal — What My Daughter Found On His Phone Destroyed Everything
Days bled into weeks in the guest house. I spent my time staring at the walls, the silence amplified by my grief. Brianna would visit, bringing me food, sitting with me, her presence a small comfort. She rarely spoke, but her gaze was always observant.
One afternoon, she brought me a plate of fruit. Her eyes flickered to the empty space where my work tablet used to be.
“Mom,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Did you delete everything off your old production tablet?”
I shook my head. “No, baby. They took it. They said they needed it for ‘inventory.'”
“What about the local network backups?” she asked, her gaze drifting to the smart wall panel in the corner. “You always said you never trusted the cloud for critical stuff.”
A faint spark of an idea ignited within me. My old habit, ingrained from my military telemetry tech days. Redundancy. Local backups for immediate access during live shows.
“Tremaine’s encrypted cloud storage is pretty robust,” Brianna continued, picking at a grape. “But if there was a local server… and if the tablet synchronized locally before it was taken…”
Her eyes met mine, a quiet fire burning in them. “What if I could just… see what was still on the network?”
My heart gave a painful lurch. It was a long shot, but Brianna was brilliant with tech, a natural like me. She had often played around with my old staging servers, building her own coding projects.
Later that night, long after the security guards had done their rounds, Brianna slipped into the guest house. She carried a small, nondescript laptop and a portable hard drive.
She quietly connected to the guest house’s internal network, a subnet of the main mansion’s system. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, a flurry of commands scrolling across the screen. Lines of code, obscure directories, all a language I understood, but hadn’t touched in weeks.
Then, she found it. A digital fragment. A partially synchronized cache of Tremaine’s phone data from the night of the labor, before the main system was locked down. Deep within, nestled amongst routine files, was a deleted text thread.
“Mom,” she breathed, her voice tight. “I think… I found something.”
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