Video Call With My Granddaughter—I Heard “Is It Normal To Take Pictures Without Clothes?” Then…

I pressed my weathered palm against the frost-etched window of my Vancouver apartment, watching the December rain blur the city lights into watercolor streaks. At 63, I’d learned that distance was sometimes necessary.

My daughter, Melissa, had made that clear three years ago when she left with my granddaughter, Sophie, taking them both to Toronto to be closer to her mother-in-law, Patricia. The custody arrangement after the divorce gave Melissa primary custody, and I got Sophie every other Christmas and summer.

It wasn’t enough, but it was what the court decided. The tablet chimed at exactly 7:00 p.m., right on schedule.

Sophie’s face filled the screen, her missing front tooth creating that gap-toothed grin that made my chest ache with how much I missed her daily presence. “Grandpa!”

Her voice carried that particular excitement of a seven-year-old who’d been waiting all day to share something important. “Look what I made in art class!”

She held up a construction paper snowflake, meticulously cut with the kind of concentration only children possess. The paper trembled slightly in her small hands.

“That’s beautiful, sweetheart. Is it for the winter concert?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’re doing decorations for the auditorium. Mrs. Chen says mine is good enough to hang in the front.” Pride radiated from her expression.

“Nana Patricia helped me practice cutting at home. She has really sharp scissors.” Something in her tone shifted on that last sentence.

Not quite fear, but a hesitation I couldn’t place. “That’s wonderful, honey. How are things at Nana Patricia’s house? You staying there this weekend?” I questioned.

“Uh-huh. Mommy has to work Saturday and Sunday at the hospital, the overnight shifts.” Sophie glanced to her left somewhere off-screen.

“Nana Patricia says we’re going to bake cookies and watch movies.” “Sounds like fun. What kind of cookies?” I asked.

“Chocolate chip, I think. Or maybe…” She paused again with that same odd hesitation.

“Grandpa, can I ask you something?” “Anything, sweetheart.” I replied.

“Is it normal for grown-ups to take pictures of kids without clothes on?” My blood turned to ice water.

Every nerve in my body went on high alert. “What do you mean, Sophie? What kind of pictures?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I just…” Her eyes widened, looking past the camera.

“Oh, Nana Patricia is here! I got to go practice my…” The tablet shifted violently.

I caught a glimpse of floral wallpaper and heard Sophie’s voice change from uncertain to frightened. “No, Nana, I didn’t say anything! I was just talking about art class!” Sophie cried.

“Give me that device right now, young lady.” Patricia’s voice, usually so refined and proper, carried an edge like broken glass.

“Your grandfather doesn’t need to be filling your head with nonsense during our special time.” Patricia said.

“But Nana, I wasn’t! Please don’t!” Sophie pleaded.

The screen went black. I stared at the blank tablet, my reflection ghostly in the dark glass.

My hands were shaking. 73 years old, and I was shaking like a leaf.

I called back immediately. It rang and rang and rang; there was no answer.

I tried again. Voicemail.

Again. Voicemail.

I called Melissa’s cell. It went straight to voicemail.

She was probably already at the hospital with her phone turned off for her shift. I called Sophie’s tablet again, but there was nothing.

The rational part of my brain tried to calm the panic. Maybe Sophie had just been curious about something innocent.

Maybe Patricia was just being overprotective. Maybe I was overreacting.

But that question: is it normal for grown-ups to take pictures of kids without clothes on? I called again and again.

After the 23rd attempt, I grabbed my coat. After the 31st call, I was in my truck pulling out of the parking garage.

After the 37th call, I was on the Trans-Canada Highway, heading east through the rain. Vancouver to Toronto: 4,300 km.

It would be 41 hours of straight driving. I’d stopped for gas and nothing else.

By the time I hit my 47th unanswered call, I was somewhere past Revelstoke, and the rain had turned to sleet. My phone finally rang.

“Dad?” Melissa’s voice was tight with worry.

“I just saw all your calls. What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” “Where’s Sophie right now?” I demanded.

“She’s at Patricia’s. Dad, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.” “Call Patricia right now. Tell her you’re coming to pick Sophie up early.” I told her.

“Dad, I can’t! I’m at work. My shift doesn’t end until 7:00 a.m., and I can’t just leave in the middle of a…” “Melissa, listen to me very carefully.” I interrupted.

I forced my voice to stay level. “Sophie asked me if it was normal for adults to take pictures of children without clothes on.”

Silence followed, the kind of silence that screams. “What?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Right before Patricia grabbed the tablet and cut off the call. I’ve been trying to reach them for two hours. Nobody’s answering.” I explained.

“Oh my God.” I heard movement and voices in the background.

“Oh my God, Dad. I’m calling the police right now. Where are you?” “On my way to Toronto.” I replied.

“You’re where? Dad, that’s a 40-hour drive!” “I left right after the call. I’m not waiting 40 hours for bureaucracy to maybe check on my granddaughter.”

More movement followed as Melissa talked to someone else rapidly. “Dad, I’m leaving work. I don’t care what they say. I’m getting Sophie right now.”

“Call me the second you have her.” I said.