My daughter's nanny

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The streets were cold, but not as cold as the emptiness in Isabella’s chest. She clutched her small suitcase with trembling hands, dragging it along the pavement with no clear destination in mind. Every step away from the Brandon residence felt like a slow, cruel reminder that she had been discarded like trash.

Her father was gone. Weston was gone. And the child—her child—was gone too.

She wandered until nightfall, her feet aching. A dimly lit, cheap motel at the end of the street became her only refuge. The neon “VACANCY” sign flickered weakly, casting strange shadows on her pale face. She checked in with the little cash she had left from her old allowance, knowing it wouldn’t last long.

That night, in the stillness of the cramped room, the baby’s cry from the hospital echoed in her mind. It was a sound that tore through her chest over and over again.

“I didn’t even get to hold you… just once,” she whispered into the darkness and cry herself to sleep.

The next weeks were a blur of hunger, rejection, and humiliation. Most employers turned her away—she had no degree, no experience, and a scandal in her past she could never explain. The little savings she had ran out, and she learned to live on the cheapest bread and instant noodles.

Months dragged into a year. Then two. Then six.

Six years later…

The woman in the cracked motel mirror was no longer the fragile, timid girl who had left the Brandon house in tears. Her face was sharper now, her eyes less trusting, but the ache in her heart had never faded. Somewhere out there, a child—her child—would be turning six.

She told herself she shouldn’t think about it, yet every time she saw a child in the street,

she wondered.

Her life had become a series of small, temporary jobs—waitressing, cleaning, assisting at a bakery—anything to keep the rent paid. That morning, she sat at the corner table of a rundown café, flipping through the classifieds section of an old newspaper.

Then she saw it:

“Nanny needed. Flexible shifts. Good pay. Apply in person at Elton Residence.”

She almost dismissed it—wealthy families didn’t hire women like her. But the promise of good pay was too tempting. If she landed this job, she could finally move out of the motel and maybe start something new.

The next day, she put on her neatest dress, a pale-blue one that had somehow survived the years, tied her hair in a low ponytail, and headed to the address.

The Elton mansion was unlike anything she’d ever seen—tall wrought-iron gates, a long driveway lined with perfect hedges, and a house that looked like something out of a luxury magazine. For a moment, she almost turned back, feeling painfully out of place.

But survival was louder than doubt.

She pressed the intercom.

“Yes?” came a sharp female voice.

“I… I’m here for the nanny position. My name is Isabella Brandon.”

There was a pause before the gates slowly opened.

Inside, an older woman in a crisp black uniform met her. “Follow me,” she said curtly, leading Isabella through the marble-floored hallway.

They entered a warm sitting room, and before Isabella could adjust to the grandeur of it all as she mistakenly bumped into a young girl and the girl hissed hard

Isabella was shocked at her expression,

As she muttered

Oh,sorry