But my mind is still stuck at the school gates. Still back at the office, where I fumbled through the shock of it all. Because Tara just… vanished. One day, she’s doing pick-ups and packing snacks, and the next, she’s a ghost. No heads-up. No explanation. Just silence.
The worst part is, she’s not the first. There was another nanny before her, a good one, or so I thought. Lisa stayed for a while, handled the drop-offs and the snacks and the bedtime routines. People promise they understand what he needs. The structure. The routine. The meltdowns that come from one wrong tone or a missed snack. They say all the right things, until they don’t. Until it’s too much. Too heavy. Now I’m back at square one, with a five-year-old who doesn’t bend easily for strangers, and a job that doesn’t give me room to fail.
I glance in the rearview mirror. He’s quiet now, tracing the lines on the car door with one finger. Without looking up, he repeats, “Nuggets?”
The same way he asked earlier, like he needs to make sure.
“Yeah, mate,” I say quickly, meeting his eyes in the mirror even if he doesn’t meet mine. “We’ll stop on the way home.”
He taps the car against the door, processing it before he asks, “Lego after?”
“Of course,” I reply. “Nuggets and Lego. You can build whatever tower you want to.”
He thinks for a long moment, then he nods once, and just like that, the storm inside me quiets too. For now. But as I drive toward home, one thought anchors hard and refuses to shake loose:
I need someone I can trust. Not just anyone. Someone who won’t disrupt his rhythm, who’ll see the small things that matter. Someone who gets it. Because I can’t afford another call like today. Not ever again.
By the time we’re home, it’s just gone four-thirty. Teddy’s fed. Well, technically, he ate five nuggets in the car before declaring he’d had enough. Just like I thought he would. The rest sit in the oven, waiting for Teddy to say later that his “belly is hungry again”.
Diesel barks incessantly at the back door, and I know if I don’t let him in now, he’ll keep going all night. He trots in as soon as the door is opened, tail thumping once as he brushes past me. But it’s not me he’s here for. It’s Teddy. He beelines straight for him, nudging his hand with a quiet huff. Teddy wraps both arms around the dog’s neck without hesitation. It’s the only living thing he’s ever hugged like that. No questions, no coaxing. Just… trust.
Diesel’s my nine-year-old ex-service dog I got off a mate a year before I got Teddy. He’d aged out of active duty but still needed purpose. He’s smart, trained to the teeth, steady when it counts. And from the day Teddy came into our lives, he’s been his anchor. His shadow. Don’t get me wrong, though, he can be a real nasty bastard when he needs to be.
Dogs in this line of work see, hear, and feel too much. So, naturally, Diesel doesn’t trust easily. Strangers put him on edge, and if you move wrong, he’ll let you know. He’s not your average happy lapdog, but to us, he’s family.
I pinch the bridge of my nose before answering my phone because I already know it’s not going to be easy chit-chat. “Hey.”
“Four days.” No greeting. Trust my sister to get straight to the point. “Any updates?”
I sigh, tipping my head back to stare at the ceiling. “She called me back later that night. After I’d already picked Teddy up.” Ipause, jaw tightening. “Said she’s sorry, and that she’s heading to Sydney indefinitely.”
“Seriously? That’s it?”
“Yeah,” is all I say, because it’s all I can offer her at this point. Tara had sounded wrecked over the phone. Properly distraught. But it didn’t soften the disappointment. Still hasn’t. Part of me wondered if there was more to it. If I should’ve pushed, asked the right questions, just in case she needed something. Some kind of help. Some kind of out. But she shut it down quick. Said she was fine. Denied everything. Then pretty much hung up.
Sandra mutters something under her breath. “So, what’s the plan?”
I drag a hand down my face.Hell if I know.I’ve been taking Teddy to school myself, which means rolling in late to work and bailing early just to make it in time for pick-up. It’s not ideal. But I’ll do whatever I have to. “I don’t know yet. I’m figuring it out.”
“You’re going to need to find someone else,” she says. “Sooner rather than later.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.” I rub the back of my neck, tension coiling between my shoulders. “Not like I haven’t noticed.”
“Sorry, I’m not trying to have a go,” she says, a little softer now. “But you can’t run yourself into the ground.”
“Yeah, well… you offering to help?” I smirk, even though I already know the answer.
She tuts. “As much as I’d love to, you know I can’t.”
“I know,” I say quietly, staring at my son across the lounge room. “I’ll figure something out.”
“You always do,” she says. “Alright, I’ll let you go. Call if you need anything else, okay?”
“I will.”
We hang up, and I slip the phone into my pocket, my eyes drawn back to the lounge room. Teddy’s on the rug, hummingsoftly to himself, lining up his Lego in neat rows along the edge of the mat—sorted in the exact order he plans to use them. Diesel lies beside him, head on paws, tail thumping once in acknowledgement before going still again. I turn back to finish unpacking Teddy’s school bag for tomorrow, when the doorbell rings. A frown tugs at my brow before I even look up.We don’t get visitors at this hour.
Diesel’s on his feet instantly, barking out a warning. I click my fingers at him. “Diesel, outside.”
