Page 6 of Military Daddies' Nanny

"Did anything exciting happen?" I try, forcing a smile. Bella doesn’t even react, her eyes glued to her plate.

Jason shifts in his seat, mumbling, "Not really." The disconnect is palpable.

"Any new friends?" I venture, though I already know the answer.

Bella’s lips press into a thin line. "No," she says curtly.

Jason shakes his head.

Why is this so hard?

The silence returns, heavier than before. I glance at Nathan, who is watching the exchange with a concerned expression.

I look back at Bella and Jason, their faces blank, their spirits dull. It’s like they’re just going through the motions, and no matter what I say, I can’t seem to reach them.

The meal continues in near silence until everyone finishes. Bella and Jason rise simultaneously, collecting the plates without being asked. Bella takes my plate with a small, polite smile, and Jason grabs Nathan's plate.

They head to the kitchen, their steps synchronized. I watch them go, a mix of pride and sadness swelling in my chest.

They are such good kids, always so responsible.

I sit back in my chair, listening to the sounds of water running and dishes clinking in the kitchen. The efficiency with which they move is impressive, but it also makes my heart ache. Kids their age should be laughing and joking, not acting like miniature adults.

I glance at Nathan, who’s watching them with a thoughtful expression. He catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, as if to say,See what I mean?

Bella rinses the plates while Jason dries them, their movements in tandem like a well-rehearsed dance. I can hear them exchanging a few words, but their voices are low, almost as if they’re afraid to disturb the quiet.

When did our home become so silent?

Nathan sighs softly, leaning back in his chair. "They're too young to be so serious," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. I nod, unable to find the words to respond.

He's right, but what can I do?

The routines and responsibilities I’ve set up to keep us going seem to have drained some of the joy out of their lives. As the kids finish up in the kitchen, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt.

Maybe I’ve been too hard on them, expecting too much. They deserve to be kids, to have fun and make mistakes. Yet, here they are, acting more like adults than children. I glance at Nathan, who gives me another knowing look, his eyes filled with concern.

Bella and Jason return to the dining room, their faces neutral. "All done, Dad," Bella says, her voice polite but distant. I smile at her, trying to convey my appreciation.

"Thanks, sweetheart. You too, Jason," I add, ruffling his hair. He gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Nathan reaches over and gives Jason a gentle pat on the back. "Good job, buddy," he says warmly. Jason nods, looking a bit more relaxed. I appreciate Nathan’s effort, but it’s clear that the kids are still carrying a heavy burden. They head to the living room, moving together in that same synchronized way.

I turn to Nathan, who is giving me that look again. "Just say it," I mutter, unable to hold back my irritation.

Nathan sighs, leaning back in his chair. "This is what I've been telling you. There should be more excitement in their lives. Their childhood is slipping away, Drew."

The tension between us is palpable. Nathan's always been the more easygoing one, believing in a balance between structure and fun. I’ve relied heavily on discipline, on keeping things orderly and predictable.

It’s what kept us afloat when Karen left.

Nathan doesn’t understand how precarious our situation felt back then, how close we came to falling apart.

Nathan leans forward, his eyes earnest. "Look at them, Drew. They’re doing everything right, but at what cost? They should be out playing with friends, not acting like adults at the dinner table."

His words sting, mostly because they hit too close to the truth I’ve been avoiding. But what am I supposed to do? Let everything fall into chaos?

"I’m doing what I can," I snap back, my voice harsher than intended. "We’ve been through a lot. Stability is important." Nathan's expression softens, but his resolve doesn’t waver. "I know you are. But stability doesn’t mean stifling them. They need to laugh, to feel free. We can give them stability without taking away their joy."

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