If she complains, say it’s from grinding her teeth. Don’t let anyone scan it.
The room went silent.
That’s when Ava tugged my sleeve.
“Mom,” she whispered, “Daddy said it helps him find me… in case you try to take me away again.”
I felt something inside me break.
“I would never hide you,” I said softly.
She looked confused.
“That’s not what he said.”
The investigation moved fast after that.
The device wasn’t just metal—it had been active.
Transmitting.
Tracking.
Police searched Ryan’s apartment.
He was gone.
But they found everything else.
Receiver equipment.
Packaging for multiple tracking capsules.
Tools.
Notes.
Logs.
Entries that matched Ava’s visits.
They found him later that night.
He admitted to placing the device—but called it “protection.”
Said it was temporary.
Harmless.
Just a way to make sure he wouldn’t “lose” his daughter again.
He had hidden it during a “game.”
Told her to stay still.
Told her it was secret.
That was how he justified it.
But the truth was simple.
He didn’t see her as a child.
He saw her as something to monitor.
Something to control.
Ava needed more than a dentist after that.
She needed time.
Help.
Healing.
One night, not long after, she asked me quietly,