The Build-A-Bear Witness

In court, I'm gonna say he touched me here.

I watched on my security camera as my own mother coached my eight-year-old daughtera child with Down syndrometo commit perjury. The lie was designed to strip me of my daughter, my reputation, and my freedom.

The Build-A-Bear I bought her was laughing at me from the back seat, so I did the only thing I could: I sewed a voice recorder into its belly.

For three weeks, I became the world's greatest actor, installing tiny cameras everywhere, gathering irrefutable proof of their monstrous plot.

Now, in the packed courtroom, my daughter clutches the bear, ready to deliver the final, devastating lie. But she doesn't know her "Mister Snuggles" is about to testify on my behalf.

1
On my way home from work, my home security camera activated. On it, I saw my mother in the living room, coaching my eight-year-old daughter.
"In court, I'm gonna say he touched me here." My daughter was pointing at her private parts, while my mother hugged her and told her she was a good girl.

I almost swerved off the road, watching my daughter smile about how she was going to ruin my life in three weeks' time. The surprise Build-A-Bear I'd bought her was laughing at me from the back seat. The photos of Julie my mother had sent earlier now seemed contaminated. But instead of getting angry and acting on impulse like college-me would have, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I sewed a recording device into the Build-A-Bear before driving home.

"Grandma's here!" Julie squealed when I walked through the door 20 minutes later, running to me with the same innocent face that had just been rehearsing my destruction.

"I know, sweetheart," I said, handing her the Build-A-Bear. "Mister Snuggles has a new friend for you."
My mother smiled that grandmother smile I'd trusted for 42 years. "You spoil her, Daniel. How was work?"

"The usual." I kissed Julie's forehead, my stomach churning. "Thanks for watching her, Mom."

Over the next two and a half weeks, I became the world's greatest actor. I installed cameras in Julie's dollhouse, her jewelry box, even inside the old tablet she used for games. Every device was legally purchased and placed in my own home, in items I'd bought. My lawyer would later call it genius.

Tuesday, my mother brought Disney brochures to my daughter. "For after the bad man goes away," she whispered to Julie, who was ecstatic about the holiday and seemed to have no idea of the consequences she was doing.

On Thursday, they practiced Julie's testimony again. "Remember baby, tears help. The judge needs to see you're scared of Daddy."
On Saturday, she gave Julie a new American Girl doll. "This is for being such a brave girl about our secret."

Each night, I'd transfer the recordings to three separate cloud services and a physical drive in my office safe. Then I'd tuck my daughter in, bringing her milk and cookies before calling her a good girl. It wasn't her fault. She had Down syndrome and didn't understand the gravity situation. I couldn't be mad at her. When young children do bad things, you point the finger at the adults in their life.

The court date arrived three weeks later. The room was packed for what everyone thought was day three of our custody battle. Jessica, my ex-wife, sat with her lawyer, looking confident. She'd been pushing for full custody with supervised visits only. My siblings sat behind my mother.

"Your Honor," Jessica's lawyer announced. "We'd like to call Julie Grimes to the stand."

My eight-year-old daughter walked in clutching her Build-A-Bear. She wouldn't look at me. The bailiff helped her onto the witness stand, adjusting the microphone to her height.

"Julie, sweetheart," Jessica's lawyer said. "I know this is scary, but can you tell the judge what you told your mommy and grandma?"

Julie's little voice shook. "Daddy... Daddy touches me in bad places."

The courtroom gasped. Jessica dabbed her eyes. My mother reached over to squeeze Jessica's hand in support.

"Where does he touch you?"

Julie pointed to her private areas. "There. He says it's our special secret."

I felt my lawyer's hand on my arm, keeping me seated. My siblings were staring at me in horror.
"How long has this been happening, Julie?"
"A long time. He said if I told anyone, Mommy would get hurt."

Jessica broke into performative sobs. The CPS workers were furiously taking notes. The judge's face had turned to stone.

"Julie, one last question," the lawyer continued. "Do you feel safe with your Daddy?"

Julie started crying, coached tears. "No. I'm scared of him. I want to live with Mommy and Grandma forever."

"No further questions."

The judge looked at my lawyer. "Does the defense wish to cross-examine?"

"Your Honor," my lawyer stood. "Before we proceed, we need to submit critical evidence that will recontextualize this testimony."

"This is a delay tactic!" Jessica's lawyer protested.
"Your Honor, I have 18 days of video evidence that this child has been coached to give false testimony."

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