She nodded and got in without looking back. If she did, she knew she’d run to Lily—and being dismissed like a clerical error made that feel unbearable.
As the car pulled away, memories flooded in. The first day Lily was two, crying uncontrollably. The last nanny had failed. Emily, nervous and new, sat on the floor with a picture book and invented ridiculous voices. Lily stopped crying, stared at her, then reached out her arms. From that moment on, “Em” was her favorite word.
Richard was different—controlled, distant. A widower. His wife, Claire, had died suddenly, leaving the house filled with untouched reminders. He buried himself in work. Emily never judged him. She only noticed how he sometimes lingered in the doorway at night, watching Lily laugh, as if remembering life still existed.
Over time, Emily noticed things she tried to ignore: the way his gaze lingered, the unspoken gratitude in his voice. She warned herself not to cross lines. But feelings slipped in quietly, like dust through closed doors.