She said she spent her afternoons drinking coffee with her mother. The family tablet, still signed into her account, had been quietly keeping its own diary.

He started tracking his sleep to fix his snoring. One quiet Tuesday morning, I pressed play on the night's recording out of plain curiosity.

A fender-bender claim sent me digging through his dashcam footage. I never expected the camera had been listening the whole time.

He swore the stress at work was wrecking his sleep. Then I opened the app his ring fed every night, and the charts told a different story.

We linked our fitness trackers to keep each other accountable. On a quiet work trip, his recorded a 2 a.m. workout he couldn't explain.

For three years he swore they only ever "sat a meter apart." Then I opened the living-room camera on my phone and watched the distance between them disappear.