3 ISABELLA
Iwas in my journal, jotting story ideas in my head, when I heard a knock on the door. Turning around, I saw Mrs. Grey standing stiffly in the doorway.
“Isabella, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Mrs. Grey,” I replied, setting down the book. “Is everything alright?” I tried to gauge her expression, but this woman was usually stoic.
She sighed, stepping into the room. “It’s about Luke,” she began.
My heart skipped a beat. “What happened? Is he okay? Is it his knee?”
She folded her hands nervously. “No. No. You did a wonderful job bandaging that up. It’s—” she straightened her shoulders, “Well, if you’re going to be his nanny, you should know more about his tantrums. He’s started throwing them again. And if Mr. Marks is not at home, I am not qualified to deal with them.”
“Is he having one now?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go talk to him. Thank you for telling me.”
I had just visited Luke, and he seemed fine, but when I reached his room, I found his toys scattered on the floor. He sat on the edge of his bed, his back turned to me, eyes glued to the floor.
“Hi, Luke,” I said quietly, taking a few steps toward him. There was no response, not even a glance my way.
I pulled a small, wrapped box from my pocket. “I brought you something. A little gift.” I offered it with a hopeful smile, praying this small gesture might break the ice.
His head jerked up, eyes narrowing as they landed on the box. He slapped it out of my hand with a swift, angry motion. The box hit the floor with a thud, and my heart sank.
“I don’t want it!” he shouted, his voice thick with anger. “I don’t need anyone! I don’t need you or your dumb gifts!”
I froze, shocked. Okay, Mrs. Grey had warned me about the tantrums, and I had witnessed Luke’s anger fleetingly at the dinner table, but I didn’t realize how much anger lurked inside this boy. I took a deep breath. “Luke, I just?—”
“Go away!” he screamed, his fists clenched. “I don’t want a nanny! Leave me alone!”
Before I could say anything more, he stormed out, the door slamming behind him. I stood there, stunned, staring at the closed door.
I glanced down at the gift, still lying on the floor, the paper torn slightly from the impact. It had been something simple—a small wooden puzzle, something I thought he could enjoy. I got it when I went to the supermarket earlier today to get Olivia some personal items and socks.
I sat on the bed, holding the box in my lap. I hadn’t expected interacting with Luke to be easy, but I didn’t expect this rejection either. His anger was deep, the kind of pain that couldn’t be healed overnight.
I placed the gift on the dresser and slowly arranged his toys.
I was stepping out of Luke’s room when I bumped into Mitchell. My heart skipped a beat as I looked up and found myself face-to-face with him. Mitchell. His eyes met mine, and I couldn’t breathe for a second. He didn’t seem shocked to see me. He was back early from work today.
“Isabella,” he said, his voice casual. “I didn’t see you there.”
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. “Sorry... I wasn’t paying attention.”
He gave a slight shrug, glancing down the hallway. “Happens. How’s Luke? Where is he?” he asked, looking into the room. His eyebrows went up. Was he surprised to see it clean?
“He just stepped out a few minutes ago,” I replied. I wasn’t about to say he stormed out and slammed the door in my face.
“Oh, okay.” He nodded and was about to walk away when he suddenly turned around.
“You are settling in alright?” he asked, his tone polite, distant.
I nodded, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“Good,” he said.
His gaze lingered, and something in the brief flicker of his eyes made me wonder if he remembered. I wondered if he felt any of the emotions brought on by this current situation: awkward, safe, or attracted to me. My feelings were like a rollercoaster.
But if he did, he was hiding it well. Too well. To me
He turned, about to walk away for real this time.
“Mr. Marks...” I whispered before I could stop myself. My voice came out shakier than I wanted. “I... I just wanted to say thanks. For... for letting Olivia stay here with me.”
His face softened just a little, but not enough to make me feel better. “Of course. I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Of course. The words echoed in my mind, heavy and hollow. Like it was nothing.
I forced a smile, even though every part of me was screaming inside. Don’t you know? Don’t you see it in her?
Mitchell nodded, his eyes lingering on mine briefly before he turned to walk away. “Glad you’re here, Isabella,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Luke could use someone like you.” His voice faded as he walked down the hallway.
And just like that, he was gone.
I stood there, motionless, watching him disappear around the corner. My heart was racing, my hands trembling.
I wanted to scream, to cry, to run after him and demand to know how he could stand there and act like nothing had ever happened between us. How could he pretend that I didn’t exist, that we didn’t exist?
I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. But the pain was there, sharp and real, cutting through me like it had all those years ago.
He didn’t remember. Or worse, he remembered and didn’t care. To him, I was just someone passing through. A nanny. A hired hand. Someone who meant nothing.
But to me? To me, he was everything. The one man I couldn’t forget. The one love I couldn’t bury, no matter how hard I tried.
I leaned against the wall, my legs shaking. I had to pull myself together. Why did I take this job? Had I grown that desperate, or did I want to see him again? Did I want to torture myself like this?
Careful what you wish for, because now I was standing here, raw and exposed, speechless, as the man I once loved walked away without a second glance.
“How’s Luke feeling now?” Olivia asked when I stepped into her room.
“I have to go check on him. I just stopped to see you first,” I said, smoothing out her hair.
“I hope he feels better,” Olivia said.
“I’ll tell him you said so,” I said with a smile.
Luke was back in his room now, so I gently knocked on the doorframe. “Luke? It’s Isabella. May I come in?”
I could see him, but he didn’t answered. Finally, his shoulder slumped, and I heard a soft “yes.”
He stood there, his eyes red and puffy. “What do you want?” he muttered.
I entered the room, noticing he had again tossed the toys that I had picked up earlier to the floor. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” I remarked lightly.
He flopped onto his bed, avoiding my gaze. “Why are you here?”
I decided to take a different approach and sat on a chair near his desk. “Mrs. Grey told me you’ve been having a tough time lately.”
He glared at the ceiling. “So what?”
“I care about you,” I said sincerely. “And so does Olivia.”
He glanced up at me, then sat up abruptly, his brown eyes flashing angrily. “You don’t know anything! You don’t know me. Your silly daughter doesn’t know me. And you’ll be gone soon. Just like my mom. She left, and she didn’t come back!”
My breath caught sharply, and a tightness spread through my chest. I reached out a hand but stopped myself. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. That must have been very painful.”
He clenched his fists. “She said she’d always be there. She lied.”
I took a deep breath. “Sometimes adults make mistakes. But that doesn’t mean everyone will hurt you.”
He looked away, tears welling up. “Dad doesn’t care either. He’s always busy.”
“Your father loves you very much,” I assured him. “He just doesn’t always show it the way you need.”
Luke wiped his eyes roughly. “Why are you even here? I don’t need a nanny. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but maybe I just want to help,” I said softly. Maybe I understand how you feel. Look, I lost someone important to me, too, and it made me feel alone and angry.”
He glanced at me, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Who?”
“My father,” I admitted. “He passed away when I was young.”
“Oh.” His expression shifted.
Okay, maybe that was a little too much for a young man to hear, but he followed up with a hasty, “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It was hard, but I learned that keeping my feelings inside only worsened it.”
He hugged his knees to his chest. “What did you do?”
I shrugged, trying to keep it light. “I talked to people who cared about me. It didn’t fix everything, but it helped.”
He was quiet for a moment. “My mom isn’t dead. Do you think... do you think she’ll ever come back?”
I looked into his hopeful eyes. They gutted me. “I don’t know,” I said gently. “But no matter what, you have people here who care about you.”
He took a deep breath, and his fists started to clench again. “Sometimes I just get so mad.”
“It’s okay to feel angry,” I told him. “But you can find better ways to let it out.”
He fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt. “Like what?”
“Maybe try writing your feelings down, or drawing,” I suggested, feeling relieved that he was now all the way calm. “Or talking to someone when you feel upset.”
He considered this. “I like to draw.”
“That’s great,” I encouraged. “Maybe you can show me some of your drawings sometime.”
He fought against a smile. “Maybe.”
I stood up. “Would you like to come downstairs? We can have some hot chocolate.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
As we headed down the hall, he looked up at me. “Isabella?”
“Yes, Luke?”
“You’re not so bad,” he said quietly.
I chuckled. “Well, that’s quite the compliment there, sir. Mind if we stop by Olivia’s room and have her join us?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
Olivia jumped off the floor when she saw us and grabbed her doll before jogging to catch up as we headed downstairs to the kitchen.
I began making the hot chocolate, listening to Luke’s and Olivia’s chatter. Mrs. Grey appeared in the doorway; relief evident on her face.
“Thank you,” she mouthed silently.
I nodded, grateful that I could help.
Later that night, as I tucked Olivia into bed, she whispered, “I think Luke liked the hot chocolate. He didn’t seem so grumpy.”
“Who doesn’t like hot chocolate?” I teased, tickling her tummy.
Olivia giggled and squirmed and then looked at me thoughtfully. “You’re good at helping people, Mommy.”
I’d never been a nanny before, but my life as a single mom prepared me for it. I kissed her forehead, smelling the sweet scent of her children’s shampoo. “I just try to listen.”
She snuggled into her pillow. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I replied softly, tugging the blanket up over her shoulders.
After putting Olivia to bed I turned in, I was tossing in bed, unable to sleep. At some point, my throat felt dry, and I decided to go downstairs to the fridge and get a bottle of water.
I heard Mitchell’s voice in the study as I left the room. It seemed he was on a call.
I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop. I should keep walking, mind my business. But something about the tone of his voice stopped me.
“No, Phoebe, you don’t understand. And you never try to understand. He had a fit today. Mrs. Grey told me he even took it out on the new nanny. If only you had kept your promise to come check on him today, that wouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice dripping with anger. “You always have an excuse not to come see him. He thinks you’ve abandoned him.”