Page 12 of The Wolf's Plus-Size Nanny

The days start blurring together faster than I’d like to admit. Between looking after Fiona, managing Jack’s barely contained chaos, and juggling my other two jobs, I’m runningon fumes. My mornings at the coffee shop blend into afternoons nannying, and by the time I hit my shift at the diner, I’m barely keeping my eyes open. It’s a miracle I haven’t poured someone a cup of formula instead of coffee yet.

Jack, of course, is oblivious. He’s getting better with Fiona, I’ll give him that—he’s no longer holding the baby like she’s made of glass—but there’s still a lot he doesn’t see. Like how much work goes into just keeping Fiona happy for more than ten minutes at a time. And it’s not just the baby; it’s all the other little things, like laundry, dishes, and figuring out what the hell to feed a tiny shifter who isn’t even on solids yet. Jack’s trying, but he’s not there yet.

“You good?” Jack asks one afternoon, glancing over at me as he struggles to put together Fiona’s pack-n-play. His brow furrows in concentration, like he’s handling some complicated machinery instead of a glorified baby cage.

I stifle a yawn and offer a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, just peachy.” I shift Fiona on my hip, patting her back absently as she nuzzles against my shoulder. “You almost done with that thing? We’ve got, like, ten minutes before she wakes up from her micro nap and wants attention again.”

Jack huffs, sitting back to glare at the half-assembled pack-n-play. “This thing’s a nightmare. It’s like they expect you to have a PhD in baby gear just to put it together.”

“Or maybe just a functioning brain,” I tease, though the effort makes me feel even more exhausted. I can tell he’s trying not to get frustrated, but I’m not sure I’ve got the patience to keep coaching him through every little task. “You know, they have tutorials online for this stuff. Might want to check one out.”

Jack grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I just need you around to remind me how bad I am at this.”

I want to say something reassuring, but the truth is, I’m too damn tired. Fiona’s starting to stir, so I shift her again, hoping the movement lulls her back to sleep. No such luck. She lets out a whimper, and I can feel Jack’s eyes on me, that mix of gratitude and guilt that’s become all too familiar.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says quietly, finally managing to snap the pack-n-play into place. “If it’s too much, I’ll figure something out.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Yeah? Like what? You gonna pull a magic nanny out of thin air? Or maybe take time off from your own job, the one that’s keeping this roof over your heads?”

Jack’s silence is all the answer I need. He doesn’t have a backup plan, and we both know it.

“Look,” I sigh, rubbing my eyes. “I’m managing. It’s just a lot right now. But I’m here because I want to be. For Fiona.”

Jack nods, and I can see the weariness in his own eyes. He’s trying to keep up, trying to be the dad Fiona needs, but we’re both running on empty.

“Just let me know if you need a break,” he says, and for a second, his voice is soft. Almost vulnerable. “I don’t want to burn you out.”

I don’t bother answering. Instead, I shift my focus back to Fiona, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that maybe Jack’s right. Maybe I am burning out.

The next few days are a blur of late-night feedings, early-morning shifts, and half-hearted attempts to keep my other jobs from slipping through the cracks. The coffee shop ismanageable, mostly because I can zone out while making lattes and no one expects me to chat. But the diner? That’s another story. It’s loud, busy, and I’m constantly on my feet.

Today, I’m dragging myself through a lunch shift, barely keeping my eyes open as I scribble down orders and dodge impatient customers. I’ve already spilled two drinks and gotten a blister from running around in shoes that are one shift away from falling apart. My brain feels like it’s wading through molasses, and every time I blink, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes from staying shut.

“Sonya!” The sharp voice of my manager, Maria, cuts through the din. I blink hard, realizing I’ve stopped in the middle of the floor with my tray tilting precariously. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just… lost my train of thought,” I mumble, forcing myself to move. I can feel the eyes of my coworkers on me. I can’t afford to mess this up. This job is what’s keeping the lights on.

“Get it together, Welsh,” Maria snaps, but there’s concern in her eyes. “You’re no good to me half-asleep on your feet.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”

But it does. Not ten minutes later, I find myself in the storage room, leaning against the shelves with my eyes drifting shut despite the distant clatter of dishes and the voices outside. Just five minutes, I tell myself. Five minutes to recharge.

It’s the clattering of the mop bucket that jolts me awake, my heart racing as I realize I’ve dozed off. Maria is standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, her expression a blend of frustration and something that looks too much like disappointment.

“This is your last warning. I need you on your game, or you’re out.”

I nod, swallowing hard against the lump of guilt lodged in my throat. “I’m sorry, Maria. It won’t happen again.”

She nods, but her eyes are skeptical. “Make sure it doesn’t. You’ve got too much potential to be slacking like this.”

I force another smile, even though my insides feel like they’re sinking. I’m trying, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m spreading myself too thin—trying to do it all, trying to be everything to everyone, and failing spectacularly at all of it.

As I step back onto the diner floor, my thoughts are a tangled mess of worries and what-ifs. And for the first time, I let myself consider that maybe I can’t keep this up. Maybe I’m not as strong as I thought.

Chapter 6 - Jack

The week passes in a blur of late-night feedings, diaper disasters, and more bottles than I knew a single baby could go through. If it weren’t for Sonya, I’m pretty sure Fiona and I would be living in a perpetual state of doom and gloom. She’s been a godsend, swooping in when I fumble a diaper change or when Fiona’s cries turn into a full-blown meltdown. Watching her handle Fiona is like watching someone fluent in a language I barely understand.

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