Off The Record
My Son Noticed Our Nanny’s Belly Button Piercing And Said, “Mommy Has It!” — Thank Goodness For The CCTV Footage
It all began when my child made an innocent remark about our nanny that didn’t sit well with me. I dismissed it at first. But I couldn’t ignore my gut.
I would have told you a month ago that my life was the stuff of a well-written romantic comedy, the kind that finishes with a beach home, slow dancing in the kitchen, and a wedding montage.
I’m Georgia, 36, a successful lawyer, a mother of three, and I’m married to the ideal man. Or so I believed.
My spouse, Patrick, has that tall, clean-cut, tailored-suit kind of beauty, and he’s charming and considerate. He used to make me feel like the only woman in the world, he owns a consulting business, and he wears pricey cologne that always seems to smell better on him than it does in the bottle.
Every single item was ours. Deep closeness (the kind where you can’t stop touching each other), lengthy wine-related chats, goofy nicknames, Napa weekend getaways, monthly movie outings, and those “just because” roses that unexpectedly appear at your workplace.
I felt as like everything had come together when I was promoted to senior partner at my firm, something I had been working hard for the past five years. The cases grew in size, my pay doubled, and yes, I worked longer hours. All of this was planned.
At that point, the nanny’s chat evolved beyond simple pillow talk.
“We can’t keep juggling sitters,” I said to Patrick one evening as I was giving our youngest some mashed peas. “We require a reliable individual. Someone who works full-time.”
“Agreed,” he replied, planting a kiss on my temple. “Let’s find a someone.”
At that point, Molly came into our lives.
It was almost miraculous to be twenty-four, bright-eyed, kind, and patient with the children. My first reluctance was dispelled as she entered with a gentle grin and an easy comfort around my kids.
Ava, my daughter, who had a Rottweiler-like sense of terror, adapted to her right away.
Patrick informed me, “She’s great, babe,” following the first week. “I think she’s going to work out.”
Not only did she “work out.” Molly was flawless—infuriatingly flawless. She prepared organic meals, cleaned up without being asked, and texted me adorable pictures of the kids throughout the day. I even heard me remark to a colleague, “She’s a godsend.”
I should have realised back then that you don’t get wonderful nannies without a catch.
On a Tuesday, it took place. Molly was pulling Tommy onto the couch when I arrived home a little earlier than normal. I saw a little flash of green in her navel, an emerald-studded belly-button ring, when her blouse rode up slightly.
Tommy pointed at it while giggling. His voice was chirping, “Mommy has that!”
I blinked. “What?”
Once more, he pointed. “That!” “Mommy has that.”
Molly laughed and dismissed it. “Oh, he’s so imaginative.”
I also laughed, but uncomfortably. “No, honey, I don’t. Mommy has no body piercings.”
He was adamant, though. “Yes, you do!” he exclaimed, raising his voice. “I saw it!”
We dismissed it with laughter. Children frequently say strange things all the time. Maybe he mistook me for someone else, or maybe he saw something on TV, I reasoned.
However, it continued to occur.
Whenever Tommy noticed Molly’s piercing, he would smile and remark, “Mommy has it.”
Once when I was putting him to bed, once when he was playing with his Legos, and once when he was cleaning his teeth. Every time, he would say, “Just like Mommy!” while pointing to his own belly and inserting his little finger there.
I became annoyed by it.
“Patrick,” I said one evening, “has Tommy ever seen a belly button piercing on me?”
Patrick laughed as he raised his head from his laptop. “Oh, no? Unless you haven’t told me anything.”
I forced a grin. “All right. He just keeps saying strange things, you know. concerning Molly’s piercing.”
Patrick gave a shrug. “He most likely became perplexed when he ever saw you in a bikini. Avoid overanalysing it.”
But I was thinking too much about it. Because something didn’t feel right in the back of your mind.
I began paying closer attention to her and picking up on little details. similar to how she flushed when Patrick came in. When he praised her cuisine, she bit her lip. How his presence altered the way she laughed.
However, until Tommy said it again, it might have all been in my head.
Like a secret, he muttered it this time.
“Mom has it. I witnessed it. Alongside Daddy.”
I stopped laughing at that point. My heart fell to my stomach at that point. There was a problem. It didn’t add up. And I was going to discover just what it was.
Everyone accused me of being overly suspicious.
That night, as we laid in bed with a mediocre thriller movie playing in the background, Patrick put his arm around me. “Gee, you’ve been overworked lately,” he whispered as he ran his fingertips over my arm. “You’re having hallucinations. You must let this go.”
I smiled wearily, nodded, and even allowed him to plant a kiss on my forehead. I did my part, but on the inside, everything screamed deception.
He appeared too composed. Too ideal. His remarks were deliberate and smooth, like glass. When you have practiced the script, it is the way you speak.
That night, I didn’t get any sleep.
I discussed it with my sister over lunch the following morning.
“I’m telling you,” I said in a whisper, “something strange is happening. It goes beyond Tommy’s remarks. It’s the way Patrick gazes at her. The moment. Everything seems a little strange.”
With a raised eyebrow, my sister stirred her iced tea. “Hey. There has been a lot of pressure on you. Large case. new title. Being a little paranoid is normal.”
suspicious.
Everyone kept hurling that word at me as though it clarified everything.
However, my gut feeling has been the foundation of my entire career, and it was almost screaming.
I decided as a result.
My top-tier security system was installed two days later without anybody knowing. It included cameras with complete audio that were subtly positioned in stylish small frames throughout the living room, hallway, kitchen, and nursery. I even placed one behind a shelf of stuffed animals in the playroom.
Nobody took notice. Not even Molly. Not Patrick, in particular.
I informed him that evening that I would be absent for two nights due to an urgent deposition in Sacramento.
“Sacramento?” he asked glumly. “You didn’t mention—”
“It happened at the last minute. I’ll return on Thursday.”
He gave me a farewell kiss. He assured me he would hold down the fort while grinning.
Behind me, I saw him shut the front door. I only travelled ten minutes to a small, peaceful motel with room service and blackout curtains.
The following day, with my laptop in hand and my heart racing, I hurried back to the hotel after work. I had no idea what to anticipate. Perhaps I was becoming crazy.
However, I then hit the play button.
1:03 p.m.
They were there. Patrick and Molly. on my sofa. She encircled him with her legs like if it were their home. My children’s small voices were coming in from the next room, just out of view. My breath caught in my throat. Bile rose in my throat as I fast-forwarded, my hands trembling.
I heard the audio at that point.
I turned it off. And everything became motionless.
Patrick was saying, “shouldn’t stay long.” “Georgia might come home early.”
“She won’t,” said Molly. “She has faith in you. as well as me.”
He chuckled. “She’s always been too trusting.”
Then she stopped speaking. “So… when?”
“Soon. as soon as the custody proceedings begin.” They already refer to you as “Mommy.” That’s the first step.
She laughed. “God, I can’t wait until this house is ours.”
I went cold. Holding custody? Our home?
It wasn’t just talk, though. Because Tommy’s voice drifted in a moment later.
“Molly?” he enquired, as naive as ever.
“Yes, baby?”
“Can I call you Mommy now?”
My vision became hazy.
Everything made sense. The puncture. the recurring remarks. The assurance with which he stated it.
He wasn’t perplexed. He wasn’t acting.
He had been trained by her. Both of them had. The woman I paid to keep my kids safe and my husband were conspiring to take them away from me.
They thought they were untouchable, but they forgot something. I’ve buried people in court for less.
And this time, it’s personal.
I had already called three people by the following morning: a judge I had worked closely with over the years, a forensic tech, and my divorce lawyer. As a lawyer, you don’t reveal your cards. You put them in place. Silently. in a strategic manner.
The next day I returned home, cool, collected, and dangerous.
When I entered the kitchen, Patrick was there.
“Oh my!” You returned early. Too happy, too practiced, he said.
I set my suitcase down. My response was, “Sacramento was cancelled,” “Good thing. I don’t have to tell you that we’re done.”
His grin wavered. “What?”
I crossed the counter and slid a flash disc. “Observe it. Or don’t. In any case, a copy is already in the judge’s possession.”
The colour faded from his face. “Georgia… we can talk about this—”
“Oh, we will,” I interrupted. “In court.”
In a panic, he moved in my direction. “Please—”
“Don’t,” I yelled. “Not following your actions in our house. in the adjacent room with our kids.”
Molly emerged from the hallway, motionless like a deer in headlights, before he could respond.
“Oh,” I remarked calmly. “Perfect timing.”
“Georgia…I…I can explain—” she stammered.
I chuckled. In fact, I laughed. “What do you mean? Taking care of my son? Are you going to kidnap my children? My home?” “My life?”
She went pallid. “Patrick uttered—”
I interrupted her, saying, “I don’t care what he said,” “You’re finished here.”
For them, the custody hearing was cruel.
The long-term affair, the manipulation, the timestamped audio, and the footage all had no chance. I left with the house, my main assets, full custody, and a court order requiring them to be at least 500 feet away from my kids.
I continued to walk outside the courthouse as Patrick attempted to talk to me.
“Georgia, please!” he called after me. What are you looking for from me?
I just turned once, long enough to respond:
“Justice. I also got it.”
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