Hannah’s warm gaze on my child, the tender way she spoke to her, with all of her attention and no condescension, did different things to my body than the view of her ass had. But it still made me feel warm and interested in her when I shouldn’t have felt anything at all.
“Let’s get started.” I probably sounded feral, insane. Which was fine. Anything that would ensure Hannah Morgan left and never came back.
Hannah dipped her chin in acknowledgement, watching Clara climb up on the seat beside mine, clipboard in hand, expression serious though she smiled at Hannah. I watched her draw a heart beside her name.
I opened my mouth to ask the necessary questions, even though they didn’t matter. We weren’t going with her. She wastoo young to take care of my entire world. Too gorgeous for me to ignore.
“What’s your opinion on spiders?” Clara asked before I could open my mouth.
Hannah, to her credit, didn’t burst out laughing. She kept her measured, serious gaze on Clara. “Depends on the context and subspecies. But I think … misunderstood, powerful, and interesting.”
Clara smiled, scribbling on her notepad then adding a smiley face. “Tarantulas are my favorite. Daddy won’t let me get a real one.” She pouted. It was the most endearing sight in the world.
“Probably smart.” Hannah’s eyes touched on me, and I felt them on my skin like a fucking caress. “Men can’t handle spiders well.” She rolled her eyes at Clara.
I cleared my throat again. I needed to take charge of this interview, even though I had never been more content than watching the two of them interact.
“It says here you’re in your final year of nursing school,” I said, looking down at my paper.
Hannah nodded somberly, focusing on me again. “I am. I’m currently taking a … sabbatical.”
“Too hard?” I questioned harshly. I regretted it when I saw the wince on Hannah’s pretty face. Causing her pain hurtme.How did that happen? I didn’t go out in the world with the intent to hurt people; I wasn’t a monster. But as a rule, I wasn’t overly concerned with the feelings of others.
Clara’s feelings, her health, her happiness, that was all I worried about.
“No.” Hannah spoke strongly, her chin tilted upward, hinting at a stubborn streak. “It was a financial issue. I’m planning on working for a year or more to get enough funds to pay for my final year of tuition.”
Fuck. I really was an utter asshole.
Her situation aligned almost perfectly with our needs. I only wanted a full-time nanny these next several months, before Clara went to kindergarten. If she was well enough. If the transplant worked. If she made it to another birthday.
That was the goal, but having her away from me for that many hours of the day, under the care of underpaid adults watching a bunch of other children, had bile inching up my throat.
“I know you have nannied for other families in the past.” I steamrolled over the opportunity for me to apologize. I also didn’t mention the glowing recommendations from the families or the one mother who had cried on the phone about Hannah leaving the state.
“We are not like other families.” My gaze fell on my daughter, swinging her legs in her seat, drawing a spider. “Clara is not like other children. She’s been sick. Your medical knowledge, what you have so far at least, may need to be put to use. Do you feel comfortable with that?”
Instead of answering me, she looked at Clara. “Do you know the name of what kind of illness you have, Clara?” She asked her like she was an adult, like she had agency over her own health.
Clara looked up. “Acute lymphocytic leukemia.”
My heart clenched in agony at my four-year-old daughter’s perfect pronunciation of the disease that threatened to take her from me. That had tendrils still wrapping around parts inside of her small body, clenching, ready to steal her away.
Hannah dipped her chin, though I didn’t miss the softness—empathy, not pity—in her features. “That is so hard, Clara,” she told her in a soft voice. “I’m so sorry that you’ve had to go through what I’m imagining has been a lot of pain and scary things. Do you know your treatment plan?”
All her questions, directed to Clara, took my fucking breath away.
Clara slanted her head, gazing up at Hannah. She wasn’t used to people speaking to her so directly or without all sorts of patronizing baby talk. “I have a bone marrow transplant scheduled soon.”
“Wow.” Hannah’s eyes widened. “That’s going to be a lot, but I’ll do what I can to help out. We can use your time recovering to watch some great nature documentaries, read, or draw diagrams of your favorite spiders. We can write stories about all kinds of magical things.”
Clara’s eyes danced in excitement, having only heard about things shecouldn’tdo after the transplant, her world shrinking even more once her delicate immune system was reduced to nothing.
“That’s a part of the reason why this position is live-in.” I spoke to Hannah but kept my eyes on Clara’s notepad, unable to watch her careful, empathetic, and borderline fucking magical interaction with my daughter. It only made her more endearing to me.
It was the only cruel thing I’d done to Clara, stopping an interaction where she felt seen, in her entirety, without people trying to downplay or ignore her illness.
“Her immune system will be extremely compromised, so the position will come with restrictions around who you interact with. No one in the first sixty days. I doubt that will appeal to someone your age,” I added gruffly. “No socializing, not even on days off.”
