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Sabre’s head pulls back. “What? No, I’m not gonna give him an opportunity to do the same thing to her that he did to Noah.”
I say what’s on my mind. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.”
“Darlin’, we’ll find another way.”
“It’s my choice, Sabre. I’m not an innocent little nine-year-old boy he can easily manipulate. Heck, I’m not even the innocent little teen I was when we first got together. I’m a lot stronger and more independent.”
“Linsey.”
“He got with me when I was a young teen and spent years learning how to manipulate me, Sabre. He’s spent ten more years daydreaming about doing it again. I’m the one person Dylan is sure he can manipulate. I can practically guarantee he’s not ready to handle the woman I’ve become. He’s too busy daydreaming about trampling over the person he remembers.”
***
We sit around Sabre’s kitchen table and plan it all out. Sabre and Zen use everything they learned pretending to be Noah to come up with some hard-and-fast rules. First of all, don’t ask where he is. Don’t bring up a meeting, at least not at first.
Zen writes out the rules as we come up with them.
“Your anger needs to sound real.”
“After what he just did to my son, do you think I’m going to have to fake some anger?” I ask bluntly.
“No, I guess not,” he says sheepishly.
“I understand that man better than anyone. Dylan never trusts anything he didn’t have to fight for.”
“If he’s a control freak, the thing that’s gonna keep him engaged is walking away from each text exchange feeling a little more in charge than when he started.”
Sabre adds, “That’s the kind of toxic shit assholes like this live for.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” I tell them. “If that’s what he thrives on, I’ll shovel it up for him morning, noon, and night, whatever it takes to get him out of our lives.”
The first message goes out Tuesday morning from Noah’s phone.
Me: This is Linsey. I found the messages between you and my son, and I’m not happy.
A reply comes through from my ex pretty much straight away.
Dylan: I’m a lot less happy, especially after spending ten years in prison over your dumb ass.
Me: That’s ancient history. Stay away from my son, or I’ll get a restraining order. Bet that would complicate your parole.
Dylan: I have a right to talk to my child.
Me: You don’t have the right to lie, manipulate, and scare him. That missing person poster stunt was unforgivable. Do you know how upset that made him?
Dylan: All I did was tell the boy the truth from my point of view.
Me: You’ve been lying and manipulating my son. You have no paternal rights here. You gave up any claim to him the day you put me in the hospital.
Dylan: You know I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. We’ll try this conversation again when you’ve had a chance to calm down.
I ignore his calls for two days until he’s messaging nonstop. Then we have three more texting marathons where we go in circles. He keeps asking me to talk to him on the phone, but I refuse. He begs to speak to Noah again. That’s a big hell no from me. I’m slowly cutting off every option except an in-person meeting, the one that proves he’s violating the terms of his parole. Finally, he demands to meet in person. We get into a bit of a wrangle over text about it.
Me: If you’ve really changed, I’ll meet with you in person someplace public. Maybe you can explain why you felt manipulating my son was the way to earn my trust back.
Dylan: I want to see Noah. Bring him with you and we’ll all talk together.
Me: Absolutely not. You’re not getting close to Noah until I’m convinced you’ve changed. We meet first. That’s the only offer I’m willing to make right now.
