My exhusband, Anthony, thought it was clever to give our little Ethan a wooden rocking horse as a birthday present. The moment I lifted the lid and saw a tiny recorder jammed inside, I was on the phone with my solicitor faster than you could say court order.
Divorce was already a circus, but dragging a childsized spy gadget into the act? That was a new low, even for Anthony. My hands were shaking as I stared at the recorder, and the urge to hurl it at the wall was nearly unbearable.
I had to stay sane, though. I needed someone to calm me down and reassure me that I wouldnt lose my son over a piece of plastic. With trembling fingers I dialed Susan, my trusted barrister in London, and she answered on the second ring.
Harriet? Whats happened? Susans steady voice was the first thing that kept me from panicking.
Susan, you wont believe what Anthonys done, I managed, trying not to choke on my tears. Hes hidden a recorder in Ethans rocking horse. He wants to collect evidence against me.
Susan sighed, the sound of papers shuffling in the background. Take a deep breath, Harriet. Anything recorded like that is inadmissible in court. He cant use it against you.
Are you sure? I whispered.
Absolutely, she said confidently. Stay cool. If this ever surfaces, itll backfire on him. How did you find it?
I recounted the whole absurd saga the strange clicks, the latenight discovery, the feeling of being watched by a toy. Susan listened, then, when I finished, she said, Right. Heres what you do. Turn this to your advantage. Make sure theres nothing useful on that recorder. Flip the script.
Her advice lit a fire under me. I wasnt about to let Anthony get away with a win. Thanks, Susan. Ill sort it out.
Determined, I lifted the recorder and, with the solemnity of a courtroom drama, spoke straight into it: Did you hear that, Anthony? Whatever you were planning, its not going to work.
I spent a few hours setting a little trap. I placed the recorder beside the TV and let it run while the childrens cartoons and adverts blared on repeat. The endless babble turned the device into nothing but white noise.
Satisfied, I slipped the recorder back into the rocking horse, making sure everything looked untouched. The thrill of outsmarting Anthony was almost tactile.
The weekend arrived, and Anthony showed up, all smile and false politeness, his stomach doing somersaults at the thought of what I might have up his sleeve. I watched him chat with Ethan, his eyes flicking toward the horse every few seconds.
Ethan, why dont you show Daddy how you ride your horse? I suggested, my voice sugary as honey.
Ethan leapt onto the toy, giggling, while Anthonys gaze turned calculating. When he slipped the recorder out without anyone noticing, I barely contained my grin, picturing his disappointment when he later played back the endless cartoon chatter.
Days passed and Anthony never mentioned the incident. His silence spoke louder than any courtroom argument he knew hed been outfoxed and chose not to admit defeat. I took his quiet as an unspoken truce.
The sense of triumph and relief was intoxicating. I had defended my son and outwitted my exhusband. That modest victory reinforced my resolve to stay on guard.
Anthony will never get the upper hand again. Not now, not ever.
Later, when Ethan was finally asleep, I stood in the quiet kitchen, smiling at the innocent wooden horse in the corner. Id been tested, and Id passed with flying colours. And if anything else comes my way, Ill be ready to protect my boy and keep his world happily absurd.
