My former husband gave our boy a wooden rocking horse, but the moment I opened it and saw what lay inside, I rang my solicitor without a second thought.
Our divorce had been a tangled affair, yet dragging little Oliver into it? That was a new low, even for Anthony. My hands trembled as I stared at the hidden recorder, the urge to smash it against the wall nearly overwhelming.
But I had to act with a clear head. I needed counsel, someone to calm me and assure me I wouldnt lose my son over this.
With shaking fingers I dialled Susan Whitakers number. She answered on the second ring.
Mrs. Caldwell? Whats happened? her steady voice became my anchor.
Susan, you wont believe what Anthonys done, I whispered, tears threatening to spill. Hes slipped a recorder into Olivers rocking horse. He wants to gather evidence against me.
Susan exhaled, the rustle of papers audible behind her. Take a deep breath, Hester. Anything recorded in that manner would be inadmissible in court. He cant use it against you.
Youre sure? I asked, barely audible.
Absolutely, she replied with confidence. Stay calm. If this ever surfaces, it will turn on him. How did you discover it?
I recounted the strange noises, the night I stumbled upon the device.
When I finished, Susan said, Right. Heres what you do. Use it to your advantage. Make sure theres nothing useful on that recorder. Turn the situation on its head.
Her words sparked a fire within me. I wasnt about to let Anthony walk away unscathed. 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 setting a trap. I placed the recorder beside the television and let it capture hours of childrens cartoons and adverts, the droning, repetitive chatter that would render it useless.
When I was satisfied, I slipped the recorder back into the rocking horse, ensuring everything looked untouched. The thrill of outwitting Anthony was almost tangible.
On a Saturday, Anthony arrived. I greeted him with feigned politeness, my stomach knotting with anticipation. I watched him chat with Oliver, his eyes repeatedly flicking toward the horse.
Oliver, why dont you show your dad how you trot on your horse? I suggested, my voice sweet as honey.
Oliver hopped onto the toy with delight. Anthonys gaze lingered, a calculating look crossing his face.
I waited, my heart thudding, as Anthony silently removed the device. I barely held back a smile, picturing 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 seemed he knew he had lost, unwilling to admit defeat. I took his quiet as an unspoken truce, a tacit acknowledgment of my victory.
The sense of triumph and relief was overwhelming. I had protected my son and outsmarted my exhusband. That small, significant win fortified my resolve to stay vigilant.
Anthony will never have the upper hand againnow or ever.
Later, when Oliver was already asleep, I couldnt help but smile. The house was hushed, the rocking horse standing innocently in the corner.
I had been tested, and I had prevailed. And I knew, come what may, I would do it againto safeguard my boy and keep his life happy and safe.
