THE NANNY'S PROMISE

Naomi POV Three jobs in one year. That has to be some kind of record. I stare at the email on my phone. We regret to inform you... Same words. Different job. Too quiet. Not a good fit. The wife felt uncomfortable. The wife always feels uncomfortable. I am too young, too quiet, too pretty. Or maybe not pretty enough. I never know. I only know I am out of work again, and the pit in my stomach is getting deeper. I toss my phone on the mattress and press my palms to my eyes. My apartment smells like old pizza and broken dreams. The ceiling has a water stain shaped like Texas. The toilet runs all night. I don't complain anymore. Complaining takes energy I don't have, and energy is expensive when you are running on forty-seven dollars and a box of stale crackers. Forty-seven dollars. That is all that sits between me and nothing. I roll onto my side and look at the bathroom door. The pregnancy test is still on the sink, buried under a towel. I checked it this morning. Two pink lines. I have checked it twenty times since yesterday, holding it under different lights, squinting, praying. They never change. Two pink lines. Unmistakable. Unforgiving. I don't know who the father is. A one-night stand. A stranger. A mistake I made after the second job fired me. I was lonely, drunk, desperate to feel something other than failure. I don't remember his face. Just the smell of cheap whiskey and the sound of rain hammering on a tin roof. His laugh was loud. His hands were rough. He was gone before I woke up. One mistake. And now a baby. My hand drifts to my stomach. It is flat still. No one would know. But I know. I feel it there, a tiny secret growing in the dark. My phone buzzes. I almost ignore it. But the name on the screen makes me sit up straight so fast my head spins. Henderson – Aaron Executive Services. I interviewed with them two weeks ago. A nanny position. Billionaire household. Live-in. They said they would call if something opened. I did not believe them. No one calls me back. No one gives me a second chance. My thumb hovers over the green button. I swipe. "Naomi Abbot." My voice cracks. I clear my throat. "Miss Abbot, this is Henderson." His voice is smooth, unhurried. The kind of voice that has never worried about rent or counted coins for bus fare. "I have good news. The position is yours, if you still want it." My heart slams against my ribs so hard I am sure he can hear it through the phone. "Yes. I want it. I want it very much." "You start tomorrow. The car will pick you up at seven. Be outside." "Wait—" I swallow hard. My throat is dry as paper. "The father. The man of the house. What is he like?" A long pause. I hear him exhale. Then: "Mr. Aaron is demanding. He does not smile. He does not make small talk. He loves his son more than anything in this world. If you care for the boy, he will tolerate you. If you don't, you will be gone before lunch. He is not a patient man, Miss Abbot. And he is not kind." Demanding. No smile. Not kind. Sounds like every boss I have ever had. But this time, I cannot afford to fail. There is a baby coming. A baby who needs me to be strong. "I can handle it," I say. I try to sound braver than I feel. "We will see." Henderson hangs up. I sit on my mattress, clutching the phone, and try to ignore the nausea curling in my stomach. It is not from nerves. Or maybe it is. Maybe it is both. I push myself off the bed and walk to the bathroom. The test is still on the sink, wrapped in a towel. I unwrap it. Two pink lines. Still there. Still real. Still growing inside me. I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror. Dark circles under my eyes. Lips chapped from biting them. But my eyes—Mama always said my eyes held honey. I look for that honey now. I need it. "You can do this," I whisper. "One good break. That is all you need." I wrap the test again and shove it to the bottom of the trash can, under coffee grounds and a broken hair clip. No one will look there. No one ever looks there. No one needs to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I think about the mansion. A room of my own. Three meals a day. A salary I can save. Enough to buy diapers, formula, a crib. Enough to start over somewhere far from this apartment with its leaking ceiling and its lonely nights and the ghost of Mama's last breath. This job could save me. This job could save my baby. I stand up and walk to my closet. My clothes hang on wire hangers. Mostly secondhand. Mostly faded. I push through them—thin sweaters, stained jeans, a dress with a missing button. Then my fingers find it. My best dress. Navy blue. Simple. Clean. I bought it for Mama's funeral two years ago. It is the only thing I own that does not have a stain or a hole. I hold it against my chest and close my eyes. I can almost smell her perfume. I can almost hear her voice. "You are stronger than you know, baby girl." I hope she is right. The phone buzzes again. A text from an unknown number. Car at 6:45. Be outside. – Henderson I do not reply. I just hold the phone and stare at the water stain on my ceiling. Tomorrow, I walk into a billionaire's mansion. I take care of a little boy who needs someone kind. I keep my head down and my mouth shut. And I hide the truth growing in my belly. They do not need to know about the baby. No one ever needs to know. I lay the navy dress across the chair by the window. I turn off the light. I curl on my side and stare at the bathroom door. Somewhere in the dark, a secret waits. And somewhere in a cold mansion, a man I have never met is about to become my everything.