Page 60 of Nanny for the Damaged Ex-SEAL

I sit on the bed. "There are some of my things in Connor's room," I say, and start to cry.

"Which room is his?"

I wipe my eyes with the back of my palm. "The next room. Some of my clothes are in his closet, and I think some are on a chair by his bed."

Bria goes out. I hear Connor’s door open, and I shut my eyes.

A few minutes later, we’re ready to leave. Realizing I might never come to the house again, I take a peek into Ethan's room before heading down the stairs. His room is exactly how I remember it. His dainty little bed is well maid. His little mirror is still in the corner. His books are still on his shelf with the little chair beside it. It smells just like it's always smelled. Like strawberries and sweetness.

When we're down, I take one look around before Bria shuts the door.Goodbye, house that gave me so many memories.Memories I'll have to try my best to forget if I'm ever going to go on living.

As Bria turns and drives away from the house, I watch it through the rear view mirror until it gets smaller and smaller and disappears.

It's been two weeks and I'm still miserable. Whatever I thought I felt when Jake cheated on me is nothing compared to this. It doesn't even scrape the surface. What I'm feeling now is something I can't explain. It's the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel like a zombie. I wake up with no purpose and go to bed even worse. And at night, I get very little sleep. I'm mournful beyond measure. Beyond quantification. Not only have I lost the one person who makes me happy, but I've also lost my job and the little boy I love so much. Now I'm going to be without money soon and back on the job market. But I don't have the energy to look for a job. I'm numb inside. Nothing interests me anymore. I go through life in a haze.

My tummy churns and I hurry to the bathroom. I stand over the sink as I wretch, but nothing comes out. I want it to. Maybe it'll purge out some of these terrible feelings. Anxiety is kicking my ass. It's taken over my life and has rendered me useless.

I rinse my mouth with water and go back into the bedroom. Bria is at work. I feel a bit better when she's home with me. But she can't stay at home with me forever, unfortunately.

As I'm about to push myself off the bed, my phone rings. It must be Bria checking up on me, I think to myself. But when I look at the screen, it's someone I haven't talked to for months now. Jake.

I stare at the screen as it rings. Why is he calling me? Did he hear about what happened to me, or is it just a coincidence? I throw the phone back on the bed without answering the call.

Bria comes back home early; she comes with Chinese food. She dangles it in the air and comes to join me on the sofa where I'm watching TV. More like staring blankly at the TV.

"I got us Chinese. I brought you your favorite."

I nod. I need comfort food, so I reach for it and bring the oyster pail closer.

"I'll be back. I need to get out of this dress," Bria says, and goes into her room.

I bring out the chopsticks and stick them between my fingers then I rip open the paperboard container. The sweet smell hits me in the face and I inhale. I'm grateful my sense of smell is back. Just as I dig the chopsticks in, Bria comes back out. I eat a chunk of noodles and shift on the sofa to enjoy it, but the smell that had been sweet to me just a few seconds ago becomes nauseating. I hiccup as Bria sits down beside me to pick up her own box.

"Bless you," she says.

I try to swallow, but the food won’t go down my throat. I drop the container on the table and run to the kitchen sink, spitting the mangled noodles out of my mouth.

"Are you okay?"

I nod as I rinse out my mouth. "My appetite is still so fucked up."

She gobbles up a chopstick full of noodles and chews. "It'll take time. This is so good. I wish you could enjoy it too."

My phone rings on the sofa. Bria leans to look. "It's a number."

I walk toward it to take a look. "It's Jake."

She stops eating. "Huh? Why is he calling you?"

I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt. "Hell if I know."

"He's got some guts."

"He'll stop when I don't answer."

But he doesn't stop. He calls every single day. Morning. Evening. Nighttime. And soon I'm thinking of picking up. Should I listen to what he has to say? I never allowed him to explain his side of the story. Is he truly sorry? Can we work things out? It's over with Connor. There's no hope of ever getting back with him. He's Amy's cousin. I can't wish that very important fact away. It will always be there. I reach for the phone where it lays ringing when my tummy churns and I fling my hand to hold on tightly to it. It's been days, but the nausea isn’t going away.

And my period is late.

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