Page 8 of Misery In Me

“Welcome,” Gage says, his voice firm but not unfriendly. He doesn’t offer me a hand or even a smile—just a stiff nod, I’m here to do a job, and he expects me to do it well.

I nod back, not wanting to push too hard or make things awkward. He moves to the side, and I step over the threshold into my new home.

“I’ll show you around,” he says, and it’s clear there’s no small talk to be had. Everything is business with him.

He leads me through the house, and I try to take it all in—though it’s hard not to feel out of place here. The home is a charming two-story house with sleek, modern furniture, gray walls, and hardly any decor. There’s a quiet, almost cold feeling to it, and I can’t help but notice how everything is perfectly in place.

I feel my nerves tightening as I walk behind him, wondering what’s to come.

But then we reach the family room at the back of the house, and something changes.

I notice Zoe lying in the swing, her tiny body gently swaying back and forth. The swing moves almost imperceptibly, the soft rhythm of it making me pause. I’ve never cared for a newborn full-time. Not that I doubt my abilities.

She’s so small. So fragile.

My breath catches in my chest. Zoe looks so peaceful, so tiny in that swing, and it pulls at something deep inside me.

She doesn’t have a mother. I can see that now. There’s no woman here cooing at her, no one holding her close and whispering sweet words to her. It’s just Gage. And the silence.

And now me.

Something about that breaks my heart.

I take a hesitant step forward, my heart aching as I watch Zoe’s little face. She’s barely old enough to lift her head or make sense of the world around her, and already she doesn’t have one of the most important people in a child’s life. Her mother. The person who brought her into this world, who should be here for her.

“May I?” I motion to the couch.

“Of course,” he clears his throat. “Make yourself comfortable. This is going to be your home, too.”

“Her mother,” I begin to ask but he cuts me off before I can even finish asking.

“She’s not in the picture.” His jaw ticks, and I can see whatever it is, it’s a sore subject. “And if she ever comes to the house, not that I expect her to, you call me immediately and don’t let her inside.”

Duly noted. It obviously ended really badly between them.

I sit down on the couch nearby, watching her, my chest tight.

How could anyone leave a baby like this? How could anyone just walk away from something so pure?

I know nothing about motherhood, not really. My relationship with my mother was not close or affectionate. But I feel it now. This natural instinct. The protectiveness.

It’s overwhelming.

Her little hands twitch, and she makes a soft sound in her sleep.

I feel my heart twist at the thought that she doesn’t have the woman she needs right now. The one who should be here, rocking her to sleep, giving her everything she deserves. Instead, it’s just me and her father, who—well, he seems like he’s trying. But he’s not the one who’ll give her the warmth and love that only a mother can provide.

I reach out to adjust her blanket slightly, my fingers brushing against her soft skin. The tenderness in me grows stronger witheach movement, and I can’t help but feel that if I don’t do something—if I don’t help her—who will?

I feel a surge of compassion for this little girl. She’s so young, so innocent. Zoe deserves more than this cold house, more than the strict schedule Gage will expect me to follow. She deserves a mother. She deserves to be held, loved, and cared for in a way that no one can replace.

I gently pull the blanket around her, hoping she won’t wake.

Gage steps back into the room, his footsteps steady but heavy. “She’s fine,” he says, his tone casual but detached, like this is all routine.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “She’s beautiful,” I manage, my voice softer than I intended. “You’re very lucky, Mr. Donovan.”

He looks at me for a second, but he doesn’t smile or say anything else. He just stands there, arms folded, watching as I settle in.

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