Page 14 of Nine Week Nanny
I stand abruptly, moving to the window. Palm trees sway in the afternoon breeze, indifferent to the chaos unfolding in my carefully ordered life.
"What exactly are you asking me to do?"
"I'm asking you to take him, just for now, so the court has another option besides Chris. Once this dies down and I get back on my feet, he can come live with us."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. Take a seven-year-old? Me? I run companies, not playdates. I work eighteen-hour days. I'm in the midst of a multi-million-dollar hospital acquisition.
I pace across the office, my controlled stillness completely gone. “I wish I could. I have no idea how to care for a child.”
“You’re better than the alternative. I will help you get set up. You could hire a nanny to help you.”
“Why are you calling me? He doesn't know me."
“You're the only stable family he has." Camila's voice cuts through my excuses. "And you don't have to be perfect, you just have to not be Chris."
The words hit me like a shot to the chest. My throat tightens.
"Look, Ms. Reyes?—"
"Camila."
"Camila. I'm not equipped for this."
I rub my hand along my jaw, remembering that brief visit years ago. Chris put on a good show, giving his best imitation of a doting father, parading his new family like trophies he’d earned.
Maria had glowed with new-mom pride, cradling Lennon against her chest, blissfully unaware of the monster standing beside her. Or, maybe she knew exactly what he was and hoped a child would soften him.
I push the memory aside.
"I run a healthcare investment firm. I work eighteen-hour days, and I’m living in a hotel. A judge won’t call that stable."
"I’m begging you.” Her voice softens, the steel thinning just enough to slip through my guard.
I move to the window, resting my forehead against the cool glass. Below, Palm Beach goes on without me. The blue water, white yachts, and a perfect afternoon unfold in stark contrast to the dark pleas being thrust upon me.
"When I’m stable, I’ll take him in, like Maria and I planned. I just need you to keep him safe from Chris until then."
The concept of temporary slides under my defenses. Temporary I can do. Temporary has an exit strategy.
Still, the logistics are a nightmare. "How long are we talking about? A month? Six months?"
"I don’t know yet." No hesitation, no sugar-coating, just truth. “If the divorce goes smoothly, then it won’t be long. Maybe two months?”
Two months. A day seems overwhelming, but two full months is an eternity.
My grip tightens on the phone. “I can’t, Camila. I don’t even know the kid. This isn’t my responsibility.”
Silence. Then, quiet steel in her voice: “Then you’re leaving him to Chris.”
The line clicks dead before I can respond.
The image of Chris raising him makes my stomach turn. A protective instinct I didn't know I had stirs inside of me. I remember my own childhood, the constant fear, the absence of any safe place.
I snatch the phone back up and hit redial before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers, clipped. “What?”
I grit my teeth. “What’s the legal process here?” My voice is flat. “What would I have to do? And you’ll help set up a nanny and schooling? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
