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

Sophie’s head turned slowly, and when she saw me, her face crumpled. “Grandpa!”

I crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her in my arms. She was so small, seven years old, and so impossibly small.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here. You’re safe now.” I whispered.

“I didn’t want to do the pictures.” She whispered against my chest.

“Nana Patricia said it was our special secret. She said if I told anyone, you and Mommy would be very angry with me.” Sophie continued.

“She said I’d get in trouble.” “Oh baby girl, you were never going to get in trouble. Never. What happened was not your fault.” I told her.

“She had a big camera with lights. She said we were playing dress up, but then she wanted me to take off my clothes.” Sophie explained.

“She said it was for an art project, like the snowflakes at school. She said everyone’s Nana did this with their grandkids.” I felt my jaw clench so hard I thought my teeth would crack.

“That was a lie, Sophie. That was never true. What she did was very, very wrong.” I said.

“I know that now.” Her voice was so small.

“Is she really dead, Grandpa?” “Yes.” I replied.

“Did I make her do it by asking you that question?” “No.” I pulled back to look her in the eyes.

“You did not make anything happen. You asked the right question. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.” I told her.

“You were brave and smart, and I’m so proud of you.” “But if I hadn’t asked, maybe she wouldn’t have…” Sophie started.

“Sophie, listen to me. What happened to Nana Patricia was her own choice. A grown-up’s choices are never a child’s responsibility. Do you understand?” She nodded, but I could see the guilt in her eyes.

That would take more than one conversation to heal. Melissa arrived 10 minutes later, pale and shaking.

Sophie reached for her mother, and they held each other while they both cried. I stepped back, giving them space, but kept one hand on Sophie’s shoulder, maintaining contact, letting her know I wasn’t leaving.

Over the next week, the full horror of what Patricia had done came to light. The police investigation revealed she’d been part of an online exploitation network.

The photographs she’d taken of Sophie had been uploaded to encrypted forums and shared with dozens of other predators. Some had been sold.

My granddaughter’s innocence had been commodified and distributed to monsters across the globe. But Patricia had made one critical mistake.

She’d kept detailed logs, notes about each photography session, communications with her network, and even financial records of payments received. When Sophie had asked me that question on video chat, Patricia must have realized the secret was about to come out.

She’d gone to her computer, seen the evidence of her crimes laid bare in her own handwriting, and understood there was no escape. The police found the note she’d written before taking her own life.

It didn’t express remorse; it expressed anger that she’d been caught, anger that Sophie had betrayed her by asking me that question. The detective in charge of the case, a woman named Jennifer Walsh, called me on the fifth day after my arrival in Toronto.

“Mr. Brennan, I wanted to update you personally on the investigation. We’ve identified 47 individuals in Patricia Thornton’s network. 17 of them are in Canada.” Detective Walsh said.

“We’re coordinating with international law enforcement for the others.” “47 people?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. And based on the communications we’ve recovered, there are at least 32 other children involved. We’re working to identify them all.” 32 children; 32 families about to have their worlds destroyed.

“What about Sophie’s images? Can you get them removed?” “We’re working with cybercrimes units internationally. But I need to be honest with you, Mr. Brennan. Once something is on the internet, it’s nearly impossible to completely erase.” She replied.

“We can take down the forums, arrest the individuals, but there will always be copies somewhere.” I closed my eyes.

Sophie would carry this with her forever. Not just the trauma of what happened, but the knowledge that somewhere out there, those images still existed.

“There’s one more thing,” Detective Walsh continued.

“In Patricia’s communications, we found discussions about escalation. She was being pressured by the network to move beyond photography.” “There were plans to introduce Sophie to one of the male members of the group. A meetup was scheduled for 3 weeks from now.” She said.

I felt bile rise in my throat. If Sophie hadn’t asked me that question when she did, if I hadn’t called immediately, if Melissa hadn’t responded, if the police hadn’t arrived when they did…

“Thank you for telling me,” I said, though I wanted to scream.

“Mr. Brennan, your granddaughter’s quick thinking and your immediate response saved her from something much worse. I want you to know that.” After the call ended, I sat in the hospital waiting room and put my head in my hands.

Melissa sat beside me, silent. Sophie was asleep in her room, finally resting after days of barely sleeping.

“I’m not going back to night shifts,” Melissa said quietly.

“I’m requesting permanent day rotation, even if it means less pay.” “Good.” I replied.

“And I’m moving back to Vancouver. Sophie needs to be near you. We both do.” I looked at her.

Melissa’s face was drawn, aged 10 years in 5 days. The guilt was eating her alive too.

“It’s not your fault,” I told her.

“I left her with a monster.” “You left her with your ex-husband’s mother. Someone who was supposed to be family. Someone who should have been safe. You couldn’t have known.” I insisted.

“I should have noticed something was wrong.” “Patricia was careful. She was manipulative. She knew how to hide it. This is on her, not you.” I said.

We sat in silence for a long moment. “Dad,” Melissa said finally.

“That question Sophie asked you… why did she ask you and not me?” I’d been wondering the same thing.

Maybe because I was further away. Maybe it felt safer to ask someone on a screen rather than someone in the house.

Or maybe she just knew I’d listen. “I would have listened.” Melissa whispered.

“I know. But kids don’t always think logically when they’re scared and confused.” The days that followed were a blur of interviews, counseling sessions, and court proceedings.

Because Patricia was deceased, there was no trial, but the network she’d been part of required Sophie to give testimony via video link. Dr. Chen and a child psychologist prepared her, walked her through what would happen, and assured her she was safe.

I sat beside Sophie during the video testimony, holding her hand. She was so brave.

She answered the prosecutor’s questions clearly and precisely. Yes, Nana Patricia had taken pictures; yes, she’d been told to take off her clothes; yes, she’d been told it was a secret.

When the defense attorney for one of the network members tried to suggest Sophie had somehow encouraged the photography, I watched my 7-year-old granddaughter look directly at the camera. “I’m 7 years old. I don’t encourage anything. Grown-ups are supposed to protect kids, not hurt them.” She said.

The attorney had no response to that. Over the next 6 months, 34 arrests were made: 17 in Canada, 12 in the United States, five in the United Kingdom.

The network was dismantled. Servers were seized, and thousands of images were cataloged as evidence.

Every single one of those children was identified, their families notified, and services provided. Sophie started therapy, twice a week at first, then once a week as she began to heal.

She had nightmares and panic attacks when people tried to take her picture, even casual photos at school events. She developed a fear of being alone in rooms, always needing someone nearby.

But she also showed remarkable resilience; kids often do. She went back to school, made friends, and joined the art club.

She learned that what happened to her didn’t define her, that she could be brave and broken at the same time. Melissa kept her promise.

She transferred to a hospital in Vancouver and found an apartment near mine. Sophie stayed with me every day after school while Melissa worked.