Finding the hidden camera under my bathtub was terrifying. Realizing my son had put it there was worse—until his tearful confession revealed a mission to bring back a part of me I thought was gone forever.

The jigsaw puzzle on our table sat untouched for weeks. Drake and I used to love them, but lately, he came home late, disappeared into his room, and barely spoke. I worried something was wrong.

One evening, I found a strange address scribbled in his backpack: “1247 Maple Street. Don’t be late. This is it.” Alarm bells rang.

Later that night, while singing in the shower—a rare joy—I noticed my old nanny cam hidden beneath the tub. It was on. My heart sank. I stormed into Drake’s room, confronting him.

His face went pale. “It’s not what you think,” he whispered, then explained.

Drake had secretly been recording my singing. Not to spy—but to make a music video. He’d been learning video editing at a local studio with a kind old man named Mr. Arthur. The hidden camera only caught my feet, but the audio captured my forgotten talent.

“You used to be so happy when you sang,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I just wanted to remind you.”

I cried too. All this time, I thought I was the only one hurting. But my son was hurting for me.

The next day, I met Mr. Arthur. He praised Drake’s talent—and mine. That week, we finished our long-forgotten puzzle. And next week, I’ll sing at the coffee shop again. My son will be recording it all.

This time, I’m not afraid of a little camera. I’m ready for the spotlight again.