Page 31 of Knocking up his Nanny

So, when a noise wakes me up from my sleep, and the blinds are thrown open, I am startled. “Mathilde?” I say with surprise.

“No,” says a strange woman’s voice.

I’m a bit startled, and I pull the blankets around my chest, because I fell asleep naked. “Uh. Who are you? Why are you in my bedroom?”

“It’s not your bedroom,” the woman says. “You’re just some whore. Get out of my house.”

“What the hell?” I say tiredly, shielding my eyes and trying to get a good look at the woman. “Who are you?”

“I’m his wife,” the woman says. “I’m theirrealmother.”

These words chill me to the bone. I pull the blankets around me more tightly.

“I… haven’t heard anything about you. I thought you were dead, or… at least divorced.”

“Did he ever say he was divorced?” she asks me. “Think carefully.”

“Well… no. I guess. He said… you were gone.”

“And now I’m back,” she says. “So you’d better get gone. This is my house. Those are my kids. You’re not welcome here.”

“I—I don’t understand,” I say awkwardly. I’m still half asleep.

“You don’t need to understand. My family is complicated. But we’re family. And you’re not part of our world. You’re an outsider. You’re nothing. Please get out of my house, or I’m calling the police,” the woman says. “Now.”

“I—I’m employed here… I’m the nanny. I live here,” I tell her. “All my things are here.”

She grabs a vase of flowers that Spruce got me, and smashes it. She then takes a shard of broken glass, and holds it against her own arm. “Grab your car keys and go now, or I’ll call the police and tell them that you assaulted me!”

“Oh my god. Okay—I’m going,” I tell her quickly, rushing to my feet. “Can I at least get dressed?”

“No!” she shouts.

“Okay,” I respond, a bit scared. But I do as she says. I grab my car keys. I keep the bedsheet wrapped around me for modesty as I leave. All the while, she has the sharp glass pressed against her skin. I don’t even grab my purse.

I’ve experienced a lot of low points in my life. But I’ve never been kicked out of my boyfriend’s house, wearing only a bedsheet, holding only my car keys.

By his wife. Who I thought was dead.

Fuck.

I’m in too much shock to cry, as I sit in my car, wearing the makeshift toga. I am not sure where to go as I drive away, staring at the strange blonde woman in my rearview mirror. How was I ever so dumb? How did I just let myself step into the life belonging to someone else, that she could take back so easily?

I feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to go home, because I don’t want their pity. I just told them I was getting married to him!

This is far too humiliating to tell anyone about. And where can I show up naked without being judged? I close my eyes tightly.

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