My former husband presented our little boy with a baby swing, but the moment I lifted the cloth and glimpsed what lay hidden inside, I dialed my solicitor without a second thought.
The divorce had been a tangled thicket, yet dragging Ethan into this? That was a new level of audacity, even for him. My fingertips trembled as I stared at the tape recorder, and the urge to hurl it against the wall rose like a tide that might burst its banks.
But I had to think with a clear head. I needed a steady voice, someone to whisper that I wouldnt lose my son over this.
With shaking hands I entered the number. She answered on the second ring.
Ethel, whats happened? Susans calm, confident tone became my anchor in the fog.
Susan, you wont believe what Anthony has done, I whispered, tears barely held back. He slipped a tape recorder into Ethans swing. Hes trying to collect evidence against me.
Susan exhaled, and I heard the rustle of papers in the background. Take a deep breath, Ethel. Anything recorded that way wont stand in court. He cant wield that against you.
Youre sure? I asked, my voice a thread.
Absolutely, she replied, certainty ringing like a bell. Stay composed. If this comes out, it will turn on him. How did you discover it?
I laid out the whole tale, from the odd clicks in the night to the moment I uncovered the device.
When I finished, Susan said, Alright. Heres what youll do. Turn it to your advantage. Make sure theres nothing useful on that recorder. Flip the situation.
Her words lit a fire beneath me. I wasnt about to let Anthony slip away unscathed. Thank you, Susan. Ill sort it out.
Determined, I lifted the recorder and spoke straight into it, Did you hear that, Anthony? Whatever youre plotting, it wont work.
I spent hours setting a trap. I placed the recorder beside the television, letting it capture the endless loop of childrens cartoons and jingles. The monotonous hum left the device with nothing but a droning disappointment.
Satisfied, I slipped the recorder back into the swing, ensuring everything looked untouched. The thrill of outsmarting Anthony felt almost tangible.
The weekend arrived, and Anthony came over. I greeted him with feigned politeness, my stomach a knot of anticipation. I watched him chat with Ethan, his eyes flicking repeatedly toward the swing.
Ethan, why dont you show Daddy how you ride your little horse? I suggested, my voice sweet as honey.
Ethan leapt onto the toy horse, his grin bright. Anthonys gaze sharpened, a calculating glint flashing across his face. I waited, heart thudding, as he silently lifted the recorder. I barely managed to keep my satisfaction in check, imagining his frustration when he later heard the useless recordings.
Days passed, and Anthony never mentioned the incident. His silence spoke louder than any accusation. It seemed he knew hed been beaten and didnt want to own the defeat. I took his quiet as an unspoken concession, a muted ceasefire.
The surge of triumph and relief was overwhelming. I had protected my son and outwitted my exhusband. That small, decisive victory steadied my resolve to stay vigilant.
Anthony would never gain the upper hand over menot now, not ever.
In the hush of the night, when Ethan finally drifted to sleep, I found myself smiling. The house was still, the swing stood innocently in the corner, a silent sentinel.
I had been tested, and I had won. And I knew, whatever shadows might loom, I would do it again, for my sons safety and his happiness.
