Chapter 7 - Four TrackersOfficer Benton asked me to come to the station.
Isaiah wanted to drive me.
I told him yes.
I was done pretending I could handle everything alone.
Inside the interview room, Benton placed a folder on the table.
“Four tracking devices were activated under an account linked to Darren.”
She pointed to a printed list.
“One appears to be the device from Ava’s rabbit.”
I nodded.
“Where are the others?”
“We don’t know yet.”
My skin crawled.
“Could they be mine?”
“Possibly.”
I immediately thought of my car.
My purse.
Ava’s backpack.
Isaiah’s truck.
Officer Benton called in a technician.
Within two hours, they found a second device.
Under my car.
Magnetized behind the rear bumper.
I stared at it in the police garage.
“How long has that been there?”
“We can’t determine physically,” the technician said.
Benton checked the records.
“But the account shows activity for six weeks.”
Six weeks.
Darren had known when I left home.
Where I drove.
When I visited my mother.
When I went to court.
Possibly when I met Melissa.
I felt exposed in a way I could barely describe.
Isaiah stood beside me.
His fists were clenched.
Officer Benton looked at him.
“Stay calm.”
“I am calm.”
His voice said otherwise.
Benton turned to me.
“Where else would he want location information?”
“Ava’s backpack.”
We drove to her school.
The principal brought the backpack into an empty office.
Nothing.
Then Isaiah noticed the zipper seam inside the lunchbox.
A tiny black square was hidden beneath the lining.
Tracker three.
I had to sit down.
“Jesus.”
The principal covered her mouth.
“Someone put that inside a child’s lunchbox?”
Benton bagged it.
“One left.”
I knew where I wanted them to look.
Isaiah’s truck.
They found nothing.
My purse.
Nothing.
Ava’s coats.
Nothing.
My mother’s car.
Nothing.
Then that evening, my mother called.
“Nia.”
Her voice was shaking.
“What?”
“There’s something outside my house.”
My heart jumped.
“What do you mean?”
“A car.”
“What car?”
“Darren’s.”
I stood.
“Do not go outside.”
“He’s sitting across the street.”
“Call the police.”
“I already did.”
By the time officers arrived, Darren had left.
But my mother had taken photos.
And the next morning, police found the fourth tracker beneath her car.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I sat in Melissa’s office staring at four evidence numbers.
“This is stalking,” I said.
Melissa nodded.
“The police investigation will determine charges.”
“What happens with custody?”
“This changes everything.”
I looked at her.
“I don’t want Ava to lose her father.”
Melissa leaned forward.
“Then stop framing this as you taking him away.”
I looked down.
“His conduct determines what access is safe.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her voice was gentle.
“Because every time Darren faces a consequence, you emotionally volunteer to carry it for him.”
That hurt.
Because it was true.
At the next custody hearing, Darren looked different.
No smile.
No confidence.
His attorney did most of the talking.
The judge reviewed police documentation showing three recovered devices and one found beneath my mother’s car.
Darren claimed he had purchased them for his luggage.
Melissa asked why three trackers had been physically located on or inside items belonging to me, Ava, and my mother.
His attorney advised him not to answer because of the ongoing investigation.
The judge stared at him for a long time.
Then she suspended unsupervised visitation.
All contact with Ava would remain supervised.
Darren was prohibited from approaching my home, workplace, vehicle, mother’s residence, and Ava’s school outside authorized arrangements.
He was ordered to surrender any remaining keys or access codes connected to my property.
When court ended, I stayed seated.
Melissa touched my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“That’s allowed.”
Across the room, Darren stood.
For the first time, he looked directly at me.
Not angry.
Not smug.
Broken.
“Nia.”
His attorney whispered, “Don’t.”
Darren ignored him.
“I’m sorry.”
I froze.
The court officer stepped closer.
Darren stayed where he was.
“I messed up.”
I didn’t answer.
“I just…”
He looked toward the floor.
“I thought I was losing her.”
My throat tightened.
“You were.”
His head lifted.
“Because you kept trying to control everyone who loved her.”
His face crumpled slightly.
“I’m her father.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“And being her father should have made you protect her from this.”
He said nothing.
“You made her steal.”
His eyes closed.
“You made her spy.”
“Nia—”
“You tracked her lunchbox.”
“I wanted to know where—”
“She is six.”
My voice cracked.
“You made her responsible for your fear.”
He looked destroyed.
But for once, I did not rescue him from the feeling.
I walked out.
Two weeks later, Darren was formally charged with offenses related to unlawful tracking and unauthorized computer access.
His attorney negotiated conditions while the case continued.
No contact with me except through the parenting app.
No location devices.
No unauthorized access.
Mandatory counseling.
Ava’s supervised visits continued.
Then something strange happened.
Darren started behaving differently.
Not perfect.
Not quickly.
But differently.
He stopped interrogating Ava.
He stopped complaining about Isaiah during visits.
He completed parenting classes.
He attended counseling.
The supervisor’s reports improved.
Ava came home one Saturday smiling.
“Daddy said something nice about Isaiah.”
I almost dropped the plate I was holding.
“What?”
“He said Isaiah makes good pancakes.”
Isaiah looked offended.
“Good?”
Ava giggled.
“I make elite pancakes.”
She laughed harder.
I smiled too.
For one minute, the house felt normal.
Then the doorbell rang.
I checked the camera.
My mother.
I opened the door.
She held a small box.
“What’s that?”
She looked nervous.
“Something I should’ve given you years ago.”
We sat at the kitchen table.
She opened the box.
Inside was an old photograph of me at twenty-four, holding newborn Ava.
My mother stood beside me.
Darren was behind us.
His hand was wrapped around my shoulder.
I stared at it.
“Why are you giving me this?”
My mother touched the edge of the picture.
“Because I remembered what happened five minutes before that photo.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
Her eyes filled.
“You told Darren you wanted me to stay overnight and help with the baby.”
My heart began pounding.
“He said no.”
I remembered.
My mother continued.
“You looked at me.”
Her voice broke.
“And you said, ‘It’s okay, Mom. Darren knows what I need.’”
I felt tears rising.
“I should’ve stayed.”
“Mom—”
“I saw it.”
I looked at her.
“I saw him isolating you.”
She cried.
“And I called it love because that was easier than confronting him.”
I reached across the table.
She grabbed my hand.
“I’m sorry.”
This time, I believed her differently.
Not because the hurt disappeared.
Because she finally understood what she was apologizing for.
Then she whispered:
“There’s one more thing you need to know.”
I waited.
“The night before Darren filed for custody…”
May you like
She swallowed.
“He told me exactly how he planned to make you look unstable.”
