“I know I haven’t been easy to work for lately. I know I’ve been distant and too focused on work. But you’ve made this whole impossible situation bearable. You’ve made Henry feel safe and loved, and you’ve been incredible with Ash. I don’t know how I’ll ever replace what you’ve given us.”
She bites her lip, and for a moment I think she might say something real, something that explains what’s really happening here.
Instead, she just nods. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“Will you at least tell me where you’re planning to move? So I can… so Henry can visit sometime?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Probably across town. Maybe somewhere with a community pool for Ash.”
Across town. Far enough that we’d never run into each other accidentally. Far enough that this really would be goodbye.
“I hope you find exactly what you’re looking for,” I tell her, and I mean it, even though the thought of her finding happiness somewhere else makes me unbearable sad at the same time.
“I hope you do too.”
She’s almost to the door when I realize I haven’t asked the most important question.
“Will you let me know how you’re doing? How Ash is doing? I’d hate to lose touch completely.”
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “I think a clean break is probably best for everyone.”
A clean break. No contact, no updates, no lingering connections. As if the past month never happened, as if we never became important to each other.
“Of course. You’re probably right.”
After she leaves, I sit in my living room holding her resignation letter and feeling like my world has just shifted on its axis. The house that felt too quiet before now feels hollow.
I unfold the paper and read her neat handwriting:
Dear Jordan, Please accept this letter as my formal two-week notice. My last day of employment will be Friday, October 2nd.I will do everything possible to ensure a smooth transition for Henry’s care. Thank you for the opportunity to work with your family. Sincerely, Alexa Costello
Professional. Polite. Completely impersonal. Like she’s resigning from any job.
I set the letter on the coffee table and lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. Before the end of the two weeks, I’ll have to find someone new to care for Henry. Someone who doesn’t know his favorite songs or the exact way to rub his back when he’s fussy. Someone who won’t understand that he likes to babble at his reflection in the mirror or that he gets excited when he sees birds outside the window.
But losing professional childcare isn’t what’s making my chest feel tight. It’s knowing that in two weeks, Alexa will be gone. No more seeing her car in the driveway when I come home from work. No more brief conversations about Henry’s day. No more stolen glances when she thinks I’m not looking. No more moments where I catch her watching me with something that might be longing.
I’ve been telling myself that keeping distance was the right choice, that protecting our professional relationship was more important than exploring whatever was growing between us. Now she’s leaving anyway, and I’ve lost both the professional relationship and any chance of something more.
Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe this is what happens when you’re too scared to take a chance on something real. You end up with nothing.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ferrera:Still want to go fishing this weekend? Weather’s supposed to be perfect.
I stare at the message for a long time before typing back:Yes. I could use the distraction.
Because in two weeks, distraction might be all I have left.
CHAPTER 27
JORDAN
Icarry two cups of coffee from the hospital cafeteria down the familiar hallway to Amy’s room, the weight of Alexa’s resignation letter sitting heavy in my jacket pocket. I’ve carried it with me all day like some kind of talisman, a reminder of everything I’ve managed to mess up.
Placing Amy’s coffee on the bedside table, I settle into the familiar chair beside her bed, the one that’s molded to my body after weeks of sitting here, talking to my unconscious sister about everything I can’t say to anyone else. Amy looks the same as she has for over a month now. Same peaceful expression, same steady rhythm of machines, same silence that stretches between us like an ocean.
“Alexa gave me her notice last night,” I start with, still not sure if she can even hear me.
The words taste bitter in my mouth, made worse by saying them out loud.
