I find Ben’s shoes under the couch. Of course. I help her put them on, tie the laces, grab her backpack.
Rosa hands me the lunch box with the little note she writes every day.
“You’re braver than you think.”
I used to write those notes. Before. When I had the bandwidth for small gestures.
Now Rosa does it. And I let her. Because some days just getting Ben to school feels like climbing Everest.
We head to the garage. Jag’s already there, leaning against the Range Rover, scrolling his phone. He straightens when he sees us.
“Morning, boss. Miss Ben.”
“Morning, Jag.” Ben climbs into her car seat. I buckle her in, check the straps twice, and close the door.
Jag waits until I’m around the front of the vehicle. “Everything good?”
“Nanny quit.”
His eyebrows go up. “Matilda?”
“Yep.”
“Damn.” He opens the driver’s side door for me. “You need coverage?”
“Working on it.”
I slide behind the wheel. Jag takes the passenger seat. This is the routine. Jag rides shotgun for school runs. Filepe handles advance at the building. Luis monitors from home base.
Overkill? Maybe.
But Ben is the only thing that matters. And I’m not taking chances.
We pull out of the garage. Morning traffic is already building. I navigate the streets on autopilot while my brain spins.
I need to text Niamh. Get her fielding resumes. Book a temp from the agency for next week.
And I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to say if Jess actually agrees to this.
No fraternization. That’s rule one. It goes in the contract. In bold. Highlighted. Maybe skywritten.
And absolutely, under no circumstances, am I allowed to think about her the way I’m thinking about her right now.
Because this is about Ben.
This is about stability.
I pull up to Ben’s school. Filepe’s already there, positioned at the curb. Protective triangle. Me, Ben, driver. We do this dance every morning.
“Okay,piccola.” I turn in my seat. “Have a good day. I’ll see you at three thirty.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“What if you forget?”
“I won’t forget.”
