I think about Jordan’s evasiveness yesterday, the way he changed the subject whenever I got close to asking about his sister. The exhaustion that seems like more than new-parent tiredness. The careful way he talks about watching Henry “for a while.”
None of it is my business. I’m here to help with baby care, not to pry into family situations. But I can’t help hoping that whatever’s happening, it’s not like what I experienced growing up. I can’t help hoping that Henry’s mother is coming back.
Because the alternative, that Jordan is raising his nephew alone without any support or plan, is heartbreaking in a way that makes my chest ache.
Then I remember that Jordan will be back soon, and I should probably have something constructive to offer beyond my unauthorized speculation about his family situation. “Howabout we work on tummy time when your uncle gets back?” I ask Henry. “Build up those neck muscles.”
Henry responds with what might be a smile or might be gas, but either way, it’s better than crying.
Small victories. That’s what getting through this is going to be about. For all of us.
CHAPTER 10
JORDAN
Henry’s been asleep for twenty minutes, which, according to Alexa is the perfect window for getting things done. She’s sitting at my kitchen table with her laptop, working on something that looks like job applications, while I mentally review my list of errands.
“I hate to ask,” I say, closing the dishwasher after loading the breakfast dishes, “but would you be okay watching Henry while I run out for a bit? I need to pick up more formula and diapers, and there are a few other things I’ve been putting off.”
“Of course.” Alexa doesn’t look up from her screen. “Take your time. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for.”
She looks up then, and those big brown eyes catch the morning light streaming through the kitchen window. “Jordan, this isexactlywhat I signed up for. Go run your errands.”
Something about the way she says my name makes my stomach flip. Professional. Reassuring. But there’s a warmth underneath it that feels like more than just politeness.
“I should be back in a couple hours.”
“No rush.”
I grab my keys and wallet, trying not to notice how the light brings out the golden highlights in her hair. Or how, when our hands accidentally touched earlier while transferring Henry, her skin felt impossibly soft. Like silk.
In the car, I force myself to focus on my errands. First stop: CVS for formula and diapers. Second stop: the grocery store for actual food, since I’ve been living on coffee and whatever takeout I can get delivered. Third stop: maybe swing by the hospital to check on Amy, though I wasn’t planning to visit today.
But even as I’m navigating the baby aisle at CVS, my mind keeps drifting back to that moment in the kitchen. The way Alexa moved so naturally around my space, like she belonged there. The easy competence with which she handled Henry’s morning routine.
The way she looked at me when our faces were inches apart.
I shake my head, grabbing a pack of size-three diapers with more force than necessary. This isn’t what I should be thinking about. Alexa is helping me take care of my nephew. She’s doing a job, nothing more.
And I have bigger things to worry about than whatever attraction I might be developing toward my neighbor.
Like Amy, who’s been unconscious for three days now with no sign of improvement.
The grocery store is busier than I expected for a Sunday morning. Families doing their weekly shopping, couples debating pasta sauce options, and kids begging for cereal theysaw in commercials. Normal life, happening all around me while my world feels anything but normal.
I grab a cart and start working through my mental list. Bread, milk, eggs. Basics I should have picked up days ago. The produce section overwhelms me with choices I never had to make before Henry arrived. Do I need bananas? Sweet potatoes? Alexa mentioned something about introducing new foods gradually.
My phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Abrams:How are you holding up? Haven’t seen you around the hospital.
I type back:Taking some time off. Family situation.
Her response comes quickly:Let me know if you need anything. We miss you in oncology.
It’s strange to think that my other life, my work life, is continuing without me. Mrs. Reyes is probably wondering why I haven’t stopped by to check her latest scans. Mr. Rodriguez might be asking where his favorite doctor went. But that world feels distant right now, like it belongs to someone else.
I finish shopping and load everything into my car, already thinking about the next stop. The hospital looms across the street, its windows reflecting the afternoon sun. I hadn’t planned to visit Amy today, but now that I have the time…
