Page 15 of Nine Week Nanny
There’s a pause. And then her tone shifts back to professional. “You’d have to apply for temporary guardianship. Probate court moves quickly in these cases. If you agree, Maria’s estate attorney can file for you before Chris is officially notified.”
The situation crystallizes in my mind. Numbers, variables, and outcomes, the same way I evaluate any investment opportunity. Except this isn't about profit margins. It's about a child.
My entire body tenses as buried trauma rushes back to the surface. Therapy helped me manage it, but the fight-or-flight response is still instinctive. I know it well, the constant eggshell walking, the unpredictable rage. Unless you’ve lived it, you can’t understand the profound loneliness of having a father who sees you as a burden or a prop, never a person.
It’s the reason I vowed never to have children.
"Tell me about him." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"He's quiet and smart. He has Maria's sarcastic streak. He's..." She pauses. "He's grieving. He barely speaks right now."
I say nothing for a long moment, just listening to her breathe on the other end of the line. The weight of this decision sits on my chest like a stone.
"You're the only person who can make sure he doesn't lose everything." Her voice cracks but remains steady.
Fuck. I've spent my entire adult life building walls to avoid exactly this kind of entanglement. Family, obligation, and messy emotions that can't be controlled with strategic planning.
I can do anything for a couple of months. Right?
"How about this? I'll email you the paperwork tonight for you to look over." Camila fills the silence. "Think about it, but not too long. Time isn't on Lennon's side."
The call ends more softly this time, leaving me alone in the sudden silence. The room is suddenly too small, like the walls have inched closer while I wasn't looking.
I stand in the center of my office, rolling my shoulders against the tension building there. The hum of commotion in the hallway grows louder in the quiet, a white noise that I normally don’t register, but only heightens my awareness of being utterly alone with this decision.
I can't be responsible for a child. I wouldn't know the first thing about what to do for him to make sure he has what he needs.
My gaze drifts back to the abandoned proposal on my screen. Numbers and projections that made perfect sense an hour ago now seem trivial compared to the weight of a seven-year-old's future.
The afternoon sun glints off the water, boats drifting along like nothing has changed. But everything has changed. Camila's words echo in my head:You don't have to be perfect. You just have to not be Chris.
My phone pings with a new email. Camila is already following through with sending the guardian paperwork.
I tell myself I'm just looking at options as I open the attachment, but the truth is already pressing in.
I may not know this kid, but we share the same blood. And unfortunately, the same father.
My hand curls into a fist on the desk, knuckles white against the glass surface.
"Son of a bitch." The words escape through clenched teeth, and I'm not sure if I mean my father or myself.
I drop into my chair, staring at the guardianship paperwork on my screen. The form is simple, almost insulting in its brevity, considering what it represents. Name. Address. Relationship to minor child.
One signature, or lack thereof. That’s all it would take to change both our lives forever.
I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.
FIVE
Sloane
I pace across the living room, my bare feet silent against the cool marble tiles that felt so luxurious when I first arrived over a week ago. Now they might as well be quicksand.
The stack of unopened mail on the counter includes a welcome packet from the condo association and a "Palm Beach Newcomer's Guide" that arrived yesterday. I can't bring myself to touch either.
Twelve weeks. They expect me to wait twelve weeks. That is the official word when I finally spoke to Bev yesterday. She assured me my job would be there. But who has twelve weeks to just chill while also keeping a roof over my head and eating?
Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the view I'd fallen in love with during the virtual tour. The Atlantic stretches endlessly, a perfect blue canvas that had seemed like the backdrop to my new life.
