Page 101 of Winning Brynn

"Order received." I give her a salute with my free hand and earn myself a magical laugh.

And it dawns on me that things aren't so bad so long as I can still hear that sound. That maybe I can worry about what's to come later and just try to enjoy every moment I have with her until it's time to say goodbye, even if it will shatter me into pieces when that time comes.

I’ve just put Salem down for a nap when there’s a knock at the door. I don’t need to look through the peephole to know who it is. I can sense it in the heaviness of the atmosphere, in the sadness that’s wafting through the thick wood of the front door.

With a long, steadying sigh, I pull it open.

Issy’s eyes find mine, hopeful and red-rimmed from crying. Her usually soft face is swollen and blotchy, her neck and cheeks a deep scarlet, and she’s wearing matching white sweats that look like they’ve seen better days. “Can I come in?” she whispers.

Mutedly, I nod and stand to the side to let her pass.

We walk in silence down the hallway to the living area, her eyes widening as she looks around the space as if this is the first time she’s really seeing it. “This place is so nice.” She sighs, gazing at the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominate the entire wall on the west side of the apartment. “You can see the Olympic mountains from up here.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” I return, my voice flat and dispassionate. Though I don’t disagree with her. Leo’s apartment is stunning, so soft in its design and furnishings, with a view that still renders me speechless whenever I take a minute to breathe it in.

But small talk has never been my strong suit, and I’m not in the mood to try it now.

She flinches at my tone, tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie until I motion for her to take a seat in the living area.

“Coffee?”

She nods, her eyes dipped. “Please.”

I brew a pot, though I take my time doing it. I need a minute to gather my thoughts, to calm my breathing and remind myself that this situation isn’t about me. As uncomfortable as I am, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I’m only the nanny. This is about Leo and Isabella and the baby they made together.

“Thanks.” Issy blinks up at me with genuine gratitude when I hand her the coffee cup and take a seat on the opposite side of the sofa with my own.

Throwing a blanket over my lap, I tug my legs under myself and sip at the scalding liquid.

Several long beats of silence follow until I start to believe that this is all the visit will entail. A miserable, endless silence filled only with the sounds of our uneven breaths and the occasional slurp of coffee.

Finally, Issy shifts in her seat. "I don't know what to say."

"I think we should start with my most burning question," I preface. "What the actual fuck?"

It probably isn’t the most effective way of initiating this conversation, but apparently, my mouth got bored of waiting for my brain to formulate something more compassionate.

She startles. Her gaze dips to a throw pillow as she pretends to study the fabric. "I'm sorry."

“For what, exactly?”

“All of it, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She releases a prolonged sigh, resting the rim of her cup against her chin as if it will protect her. “I didn’t want you to judge me for giving up a baby. And I was scared that you’d think of me the way I already think about myself. That there’s something wrong with me.” A single tear rolls down her cheek. “That I’m defective. So, I just didn’t tell anyone.”

Something splinters in my heart.

Reaching across, I take her hand with my own. “I don’t judge you for that, Issy. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you for making that decision.”

Her brow furrows in disbelief. “What?”

“It isn’t for me to judge the choices you make about your own life.”

It really isn’t.

Women don’t fit into boxes, regardless of how much the world might try to make us. We’re conditioned to be nurturers from the moment we’re born, through the clothes that we’re dressed in, and the toys that we’re given to play with. We wear bunnies and lambs on our onesies, while little boys get dinosaurs and roaring lions.

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