My former husband, Anthony Whitaker, once gave our son a wooden rocking horse, but the moment I opened it and found a tiny recorder hidden inside, I rang my solicitor without a second thought.
Our divorce had been a bitter battlefield, yet dragging our boy, Ethan, into Anthonys scheming was a new low, even for him. My hands trembled as I stared at the device; the urge to hurl it against the wall grew almost unbearable.
I had to think clearly. I needed counsel, someone to steady my nerves and assure me that I would not lose my child because of this.
With shaking fingers I dialled the number of my solicitor, Ms. Susan Hartley. She answered on the second ring.
Susan? Whats happened? I heard my own voice quiver, but Susans calm, confident tone steadied me.
Susan, you wont believe what Anthonys done, I whispered, tears threatening to spill. Hes hidden a recorder in Ethans rocking horse. Hes trying to gather evidence against me.
Susan let out a soft sigh, the sound of papers rustling in the background. Take a deep breath, Eleanor. Anything recorded in that manner would be inadmissible in court. He wont be able to use it.
Are you sure? I asked, voice barely audible.
Absolutely, she replied firmly. Stay composed. If this ever comes to light, it will turn against him. How did you discover it?
I recounted the whole affair the strange noises, the night I found the hidden gadget.
After I finished, Susan said, All right. Heres what youll do. Use it to your advantage. Make sure nothing useful remains on that recorder. Flip the situation to your side.
Her words lit a fire within me. I wasnt about to let Anthony walk away clean. Thank you, Susan. Ill handle it.
Determined, I lifted the recorder and spoke straight into it, Did you hear that, Anthony? Whatever youre planning wont work.
I spent the next few hours rigging a little trap. I placed the recorder by the television and let it run while childrens cartoons and adverts droned on, filling it with endless, monotonous chatter. When I was satisfied, I slipped the device back into the rocking horse, making sure everything looked untouched. The satisfaction of outwitting Anthony was almost tactile.
On the following Saturday, Anthony arrived. I greeted him with feigned politeness, my stomach knotting with anticipation. I watched him interact with Ethan, his eyes flicking toward the rocking horse now and then.
Ethan, why dont you show Daddy how you can ride your horse? I suggested, my voice sweet as honey.
Ethan leapt onto the toy, his grin wide. Anthonys gaze sharpened, a calculating look crossing his face. I waited, heart pounding, as Anthony slipped the recorder away unnoticed. I barely contained my satisfaction, imagining his disappointment when he later listened to the useless recordings.
Days passed and Anthony never mentioned the incident. His silence spoke louder than any accusation; it was as if he knew he had been beaten and chose not to concede publicly. I took his quiet as an unspoken acknowledgment of defeat, a tacit ceasefire.
The triumph and relief were overwhelming. I had protected my son and outsmarted my exhusband. That small but decisive victory fortified my resolve to stay vigilant.
Anthony would never get the better of menot now, not ever.
Later, when Ethan was already tucked into bed and the house lay hushed, I smiled to myself. The rocking horse sat innocently in the corner, the quiet home a testament to the battle won.
I had been tested, and I emerged victorious. And I knew, whatever came next, I would fight again to safeguard my boy and keep his world happy.
