We hired through a licensed agency. I wouldn’t have trusted anything less. They ran background checks, verified references, and confirmed CPR certification. I made sure of it myself.
If something went wrong, it wouldn’t be because I hadn’t done enough.
They sent us Mrs. Higgins, a woman who looked around 60. Her smile was warm, and she carried herself like someone who’d raised children who respected her.
They sent us Mrs. Higgins, a woman who looked around 60.
“Oh my little darlings,” she said the moment she saw the boys.
My sons, who normally screamed at strangers, crawled straight into her lap.
I stared at Mark. He stared back at me.
“Well, that feels like a good sign.”
It felt like oxygen.
Within days, Mrs. Higgin knew the rhythm of our house better than I did. She warmed bottles without asking, folded laundry so precisely it looked pressed, and reorganized our linen closet exactly how Mark liked it.
“Oh my little darlings.”
The boys adored Mrs. Higgins. She was perfect.
For the first time in months, it felt like God finally remembered me.