Poppy Whitaker stared at the tiny swing set in the corner of the living room, the one her exhusband had left for their son, Ethan. When she opened it and found a hidden voice recorder tucked inside, she slammed the phone to the wall and dialed her solicitor.
The divorce had been a battlefield, but dragging Ethan into Anthony Clarkes new scheme was a line hed never crossed before. Her hands trembled as she lifted the recorder, itching to smash it against the plaster.
She forced herself to think straight. She needed a voice of calm, someone who could tell her she wouldnt lose her boy.
With shaking fingers she entered Susan Harpers number. Susan answered on the second ring, her tone steady as a lighthouse.
Poppy? Whats happened? Susans voice was the anchor Poppy had been praying for.
Susan, you wont believe what Anthonys done, Poppy whispered, tears threatening to spill. He slipped a recorder into Ethans swing. Hes trying to compile evidence against me.
Susan sighed, the rustle of paperwork audible in the background. Take a deep breath, Poppy. Anything recorded like that is inadmissible in court. He cant use it against you.
You sure? Poppys voice cracked.
Absolutely, Susan replied, confidence ringing clear. Stay cool. If this comes out, itll backfire on him. How did you find it?
Poppy recounted every odd noise, every sleepless night when the recorder clicked in the dark.
When she finished, Susan said, Alright. Heres what you do. Turn it to your advantage. Make sure theres nothing useful on that tape. Flip the script.
Those words sparked a fire in Poppys gut.
She wasnt about to let Anthony walk away clean. Thank you, Susan. Ill handle it.
Determined, she lifted the recorder and spoke straight into it, Did you hear that, Anthony? Whatever youre planning, it wont work.
She spent the next few hours setting a trap. She placed the recorder beside the television and let it run while childrens cartoons and endless adverts played, drowning any incriminating whispers in a sea of monotone babble.
When she was satisfied, she slipped the recorder back into the swing, ensuring nothing looked out of place. The thrill of outsmarting Anthony was almost tangible.
The next weekend Anthony dropped by. Poppy greeted him with feigned courtesy, her stomach knotting with anticipation. She watched as he chatted with Ethan, his eyes flicking toward the swing every now and then.
Ethan, why dont you show Daddy how you can gallop on your wooden horse? she said, her voice sweet as honey.
Ethan leapt onto the toy, giggling. Anthonys gaze narrowed, a calculating glint appearing.
Poppy waited, heart hammering, as Anthony slipped the device into his coat unnoticed. She barely contained a smile, imagining his disappointment when he later heard the useless recordings.
Days passed and Anthony never mentioned the incident. His silence spoke volumes. It was as if he knew hed been bested and chose not to admit defeat. Poppy took his quiet as an unspoken trucea silent acknowledgment of her victory.
A wave of triumph and relief surged through her. She had protected her son and outwitted her former husband. That small, but vital, win steeled her resolve to stay on guard.
Anthony would never have the upper hand again. Not now, not ever.
Later, as Ethan drifted off to sleep, Poppy allowed herself a quiet smile. The house was still, the swing stood innocently in the corner.
She had been tested and she had won. And she knew she would do it all over again, no matter what, to keep her son safe and his world bright.
