My exwife gave our son a little wooden rocker, but the moment I opened it up and saw what was hidden inside, I dialed my solicitor without a second thought.
Our divorce had been a proper mess, but dragging Ian into this? That was a whole new level, even for her. My knuckles were white as I stared at the tiny recorder, and the urge to smash it against the wall almost boiled over.
I had to think straight. I needed someone calm to tell me I wouldnt lose my boy over a piece of junk.
With trembling fingers I punched in Susans number. She picked up on the second ring.
Evelyn, whats happened? she asked, her voice steady as a lighthouse.
Susan, you wont believe what Antonias done, I said, fighting back tears. Shes slipped a voicerecorder into Ians rocker. She wants to gather evidence against me.
Susan let out a soft sigh, the sound of papers shuffling behind her. Take a deep breath, Evelyn. Anything recorded like that is inadmissible in court. She cant use it against you.
Are you sure? I asked, voice barely a whisper.
Absolutely, she replied, confidence ringing clear. Stay calm. If this ever got out, it would backfire on her. How did you find it?
I ran through the whole story the odd noises at night, the discovery in the middle of the morning.
When I finished, she said, Right. Heres what you do. Turn it to your advantage. Make sure theres nothing useful on that recorder. Flip the situation on her.
Her words lit a fire under me. I wasnt about to let Antonia walk away unscathed. Thanks, Susan. Ill sort it out.
Determined, I lifted the recorder and spoke straight into it, You hear that, Antonia? Whatever youre trying to pull off, it wont work.
I spent a few hours setting a trap. I wedged the recorder next to the television and let it capture the endless loop of childrens cartoons and adverts. The monotonous hum filled the device with nothing but static and mindnumbing repeats.
Satisfied, I slipped the recorder back into the rocker, making sure everything looked untouched. The thrill of outsmarting Antonia was almost tangible.
Saturday rolled around, and Antonia showed up. I greeted her with a veneer of courtesy, my stomach knotting with anticipation. I watched her interact with Ian, her eyes flicking to the rocker now and then.
Ian, why dont you show Daddy how you ride your little horse? I said, voice sweet as honey.
Ian leapt onto the wooden horse, giggling, while Antonias stare hardened into a calculating glare. I waited, heart thudding, as she slipped the recorder away unnoticed. I could barely hold back a grin, picturing her frustration when she later played back the useless recordings.
Days passed and Antonia never brought up the incident. Her silence said it all she knew shed been bested and didnt want to admit it. I took her quiet as a tacit surrender, a silent truce.
The sense of triumph and relief was overwhelming. Id defended my son and outwitted my exwife. That small, hardwon victory reinforced my resolve to stay vigilant.
Antonia will never get the upper hand on me. Not now, not ever.
Later, when Ian was finally tucked into bed and the house settled into a hush, I couldnt help but smile. The rocker sat innocently in the corner, the whole ordeal behind us.
Id been tested, and Id come out on top. And I knew Id do it again, whatever comes my way, to keep my son safe and his life as happy as possible.
