Chapter 2Unexpected Opportunities – Kerry
Chapter 2
Unexpected Opportunities – Kerry
W hile pondering my questionable life choices and even more questionable taste in men, I finally pull into the driveway of my cozy three-bedroom home.
I pause, letting my gaze settle on the small, weathered porch and the warm glow spilling from the front window.
I’ve been back here for two years now, and it’s been…
well, interesting, to say the least.
With a sigh, I grab my bag, unlock the door, and step inside, bracing for the usual chaos that comes with having roommates.
But instead, I’m met with an eerie stillness.
A stillness that feels wrong.
My stomach tightens, a knot of unease coiling in my chest.
That’s when I see it—a purse lying on the floor, its contents spilled out like someone had dropped it in a rush.
My eyes shift to the hallway, where a vase lies shattered near the table, shards of glass catching the faint afternoon light.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Something’s not right.
My pulse spikes, and an icy surge of adrenaline rushes through me as I cautiously step forward.
The house feels wrong.
It’s too quiet.
I think it’s…
A break-in.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
“Hello?”
No answer .
I try to cover my deep breath when I hear faint rustling coming from the kitchen.
I unlock my phone, my thumb hovering over the call button for 911, but before I can press it, a soft giggle floats through the air.
A giggle.
A light, girlish giggle.
“Oh, James! You’re such a bad , bad man!”
The blood drains from my face.
I know that voice.
With my heart thudding like a drum in my chest, I creep toward the kitchen.
Each step feels heavier than the last.
When I finally round the corner, I freeze, my brain struggling to process the scene in front of me.
My mom.
My naked mom.
And my dad— just as naked.
They scramble like teenagers caught in the act, fumbling to cover themselves with whatever’s within reach.
Whipped cream cans and half-melted dollops of cream clutter the counter like evidence at a crime scene.
A crime against my entire existence.
“Oh. My. God.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Mom! Dad! What the hell?!”
My dad, completely unbothered and barely concealed by a sad little dish towel, grumbles, “Aw, shit. The intruder’s home.”
I blink, stunned.
“Intruder? I pay rent to y’all every month! At least call me a tenant!”
Okay.
Pause.
Yes, my parents are my roommates.
Well…
kind of.
My mom pulls on her robe with all the grace of a woman who’s completely unapologetic.
She sucks her teeth, waving a dismissive hand at me.
“Oh, Kerry. A hundred dollars is not rent, honey. And what’re you doing home so early? A woman can’t even get her rocks off in her own house without being interrupted. Did you get a job yet?”
“Grace, please,” my dad groans, tugging on his sweatpants with the urgency of someone who’s clearly not fazed by the trauma he’s inflicted on his adult child.
“Our daughter’s job is to be a cockblocker.”
I gape at them, my brain short-circuiting.
“Cockblocker ? Dad, where’d you even learn that word? Y’all are unbelievable,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“And who has sex in the middle of the day? You should be out playing golf or taking naps like everyone else your age. ”
My mom pats me on the shoulder like I’m the dramatic one.
“Sweetheart, we love you, but your dad’s hot, and your mom’s still got it. You really gotta get your life together. Thirty-five and still living with your parents? Come on.”
I stare at her, aghast.
“ Maybe if I hadn’t been laid off and divorced just two years ago, I’d be gone already!”
I throw my bag onto the counter with enough force to rattle the half-empty whipped cream can, the sound echoing in the tense kitchen.
“But would you, though?” Dad quips, arching an eyebrow.
“Two years is 730 days. That’s a long time, Kerry.”
Are my parents trying to evict me?
Am I really that bad of a roommate?
All I ask is that they keep their private parts covered and not in whipped cream!
Is that too much?
Dad crosses his arms and speaks in an annoyingly philosophical tone.
“Your life’s your responsibility now. Your divorce was a blessing, and getting laid off? That was a gift. Now, do something with both. Stop dreaming and start living, daughter.”
“Your dad’s right,” Mom adds, leaning against the counter like she’s about to drop some Oprah-level wisdom.
“You know what I’d be doing at your age if I didn’t have an annoying man or a kid holding me back?”
Dad and I exchange amused, skeptical glances.
“Do tell, Grace , ” he says, raising an eyebrow.
Mom places a hand on his chest, her playful smile cutting through the seriousness.
“I’d be an international photographer! I’d travel the world taking photos, not booking birthday parties and wedding gigs. Stop wasting time, Kerry. Passive-aggressively holding on to your past isn’t going to get you anywhere. Chase your dreams. Whatever happened to your plans of running your own school? You’d make an amazing principal.”
Her words hit me like a sucker punch—not because they’re cruel, but because they’re true.
“Grace , her record, remember? Our sweet daughter’s a smooth criminal.” Dad chimes in, his voice softer.
Mom gasps, her face softening with genuine regret.
“I’m so sorry, baby. Knowing the type of person you are, it’s so easy to forget what happened.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Maybe one day, I can get it expunged,” I hope, staring at the floor.
“But I get your point. And all hope isn’t entirely lost. If I could get a teaching job soon—paraprofessional, substitute, anything—I’d be the happiest person in the world.”
Mom’s expression shifts, her voice tinged with rare maternal warmth.
“I hate this for you, Kerry. Nothing breaks our hearts more than seeing our daughter start over instead of building on top of your illustrious career. We know you’ll take back everything you lost, don’t let your fear hold you back. You’ve already escaped that hell of a marriage. There shouldn’t be anything stopping you from reclaiming your life.”
Dad nods, his gaze steady.
“That’s right. You got rid of the dead weight. So, keep trying to get that record expunged. Your mom and I have plenty of money saved up for a good attorney and, hopefully, a judge who isn’t in Cory’s family’s pocket. We support and love you. And we know you’re gonna move forward from this.”
Their words settle over me, sharp and unavoidable, piercing through the thin armor I’ve built around my failures.
They’re not wrong.
I’ve been stuck, letting life toss me around like a leaf in the wind.
But standing here, staring at the remnants of their very active love life, just makes me tired .
“Thanks for the pep talk, Mom and Dad,” I reach for the open bottle of wine on the counter.
“Now, can y’all at least lock the door next time? I don’t think I’m ever gonna look at whipped cream the same.”
“Perhaps knock before you enter next time!” Mom calls after me, her laugh trailing behind me as I escape to my room.
I slam the door shut and press my back against it, clutching the wine bottle like a lifeline.
The laughter outside fades, replaced by the heavy silence of my thoughts.
I thought moving back home would be temporary until I got back on my feet.
But temporary has stretched into a permanent residency , and that reality is closing in on me like a tidal wave.
I flop onto my bed, where Tum Tum, my fat orange tabby, is curled up like the judgment-free king he is.
His steady purring offers a small comfort as I unscrew the wine cap and take a long swig straight from the bottle.
“You’re living your best life, Tum Tum,” I scratch behind his ears.
“No bills, no layoffs, no parental trauma. Just vibes and Fancy Feast. ”
The wine burns as it goes down, loosening the knot in my chest just enough for me to exhale.
I sip and wallow, letting my thoughts spiral into their usual cycle of self-pity and frustration.
Then my phone buzzes.
I glance at the screen, squinting at the notification.
Hot Job Alert: Tutor Wanted
I groan, tossing my phone onto the bed.
Another job I won’t get hired for.
Another rejection waiting to happen.
I gulp down the wine until my throat’s filled with nothing but air and bury my face in Tum Tum’s fur, his soft warmth lulling me into a restless, tipsy stupor.
But just as I’m drifting off, my phone buzzes again.
Hot Job Alert: Nanny Wanted – Teacher Experience Required: $150k Salary
My eyes snap open, the words blurring for a second before coming into focus.
“$150k? Who the heck is gonna pay that much for a nanny or a teacher?” I whisper, sitting up so fast he lets out an indignant meow.
I stare at the screen, chewing on the idea.
“Should I apply, Tum Tum? $150,000 would be all I need to pay off my debt, find a good lawyer and a judge who can’t be bought, and then move out of my parents’ house,” This crazy idea is taking shape despite my reservations.
Transitioning from a decorated teacher to a nanny could spark unwanted rumors.
I can almost hear the town whispers now, ‘Kerry Kind’s fall from grace—the once beloved teacher turned disgraced nanny.
’
I shake my head.
Nope.
I’m tired of being the town’s favorite topic.
Exhausted and slightly buzzed, I nestle deeper into Tum Tum’s fur, seeking comfort.
As I drift to sleep, my dreams unfurl—vivid, wild, and filled with all I’ve lost: aspirations, love, purpose, and a can of whipped cream.
~~~
I’ve been applying for jobs for months since my layoff, and not once have I gotten a response.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
I have gotten responses but not the kind anyone wants.
“We regret to inform you…”
It’s become the anthem of my inbox.
Rejection emails are my new morning alarms.
Each one feels like a tiny gut punch, chipping away at the fragile confidence I’m desperately clinging to .
So, when I open my email this morning and see an invitation to interview for the nanny position, I’m beyond surprised.
But that’s not even the craziest part.
I didn’t apply for this job.
I wanted to apply last night, but my heavy eyelids won after the wine, wallowing, and an intense staring contest with Tum Tum (which I lost).
The job posting was forgotten—or so I thought.
I read the email three times, squinting like the words might rearrange themselves into something that makes more sense.
Subject: Interview Invitation for Homeschool Position
Dear Kerry,
Despite a few embellishments on your resume, we were extremely impressed with your skill set, career experience, and raving reviews from town residents and former colleagues.
To summarize your email, you’ve agreed to the following:
Responsibilities: Nanny is to provide homeschooling and nurturing services.
Exclusivity: Nanny services must be provided for the employer’s family only.
NDA: Nanny must keep the employer’s identity private and confidential.
Room + Board: Nanny agrees to reside on the estate during the weekday.
Employment Contract: Nanny agrees to a one year employment contract.
Pets: You’re welcome to bring your feline friend.
Compensation: $150,000 annually.
Unfortunately, we are unable to accommodate your request to allow your best friends to visit.
The family enjoys their privacy.
Best friends?
MY.
BEST.
FRIENDS.
I should’ve known.
What were they thinking?
Applying for jobs on my behalf?
For nanny jobs, no less.
I whip out my phone and text them in our group chat.
Sistas 4 Lyfe
Me : Seriously!
A freaking nanny!
I’m a teacher.
Not a nanny!
Serena : Girl, if you don’t shut up and watch those kids for $150k !
Kiera : Honey, you gotta take what you can get and that money is three times your old salary.
Izzy : You’re welcome and goodbye!
Ugh.
They’re right, but still.
I want my career back, not a random nannying gig.
With an exaggerated sigh, I start typing out a polite but firm “No, thank you” email.
But before I can hit send, my phone buzzes, an unknown number flashing across the screen.
Normally, I’d send it straight to voicemail, but given the circumstances i.
e.
, I need a job, I finally answer.
“This is Kerry Kind speaking,” I say, summoning my best chipper, professional voice.
“Ms. Kind! I’m so glad you answered,” a cheerful voice replies.
“I tried calling a few times this morning, but there was just a… purr over the phone.”
I frown, confused.
“ Purr? ”
Then it hits me.
“Oh! Purr! Dang it, Tum Tum!” I yell, glaring at my cat, who’s perched smugly on the windowsill.
He blinks at me with lazy indifference as if to say, ‘you’re welcome.
’
“Ms. Kind? Is everything okay?” the caller asks, their tone polite but curious.
“Oh! Yes, sorry!” I stammer, flustered.
“My four-legged roommate must’ve answered earlier. Who am I speaking with?”
The woman on the other end chuckles, her voice smooth and warm.
“My name is Victoria, but everyone calls me Vicky. I emailed you this morning…about the interview.”
Oh.
That interview.
“Yeah, about that—” I begin, ready to politely decline.
But Vicky cuts me off, her tone shifting to something more persuasive.
“My team conducted an extensive background check on you, and I’m thoroughly impressed, Ms. Kind. Your close ties to the community, vibrant attitude, and passion for teaching are exactly what this family needs.”
I freeze, caught between surprise and mild panic.
Background check?
If they dug into my past, there’s no way I’d be considered for this job .
I blurt out, half-joking, “Are you sure you ran that background check on the right person?”
“Well, there aren’t many Kerry Kind’s from Beverly Mills, Georgia, so yes,” she replies smoothly.
“This is a great opportunity. Who knows? With my client’s connections and wealth, you might be able to work in the school system again, maybe administration, or even run your own school one day. That’s your ultimate goal, right? At least, that’s what you put on your application.”
My application.
“Uh, yes, that’s true,” I admit cautiously.
“But I’ve never been a nanny. That’s entirely out of my skill set. And I don’t even know this employer . I must’ve been… tipsy when I applied because I’d never agree to live with a stranger. They could be a serial killer or something.”
Vicky chuckles again, light and amused.
“I can assure you, he isn’t.”
I sit up straighter.
“Wait. He? If I may be honest, ma’am. I think I’d need to see a background check on him. This is starting to sound like the plot of a Lifetime movie. I’m going to need more details.”
“And you’ll receive them,” she says, her voice smooth as silk.
“During your trial interview.”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
“Say what now? A simulation? That sounds suspiciously like free labor. And I’m not in the business of working for free.”
“You’ll be compensated quite handsomely.” She assures me, not missing a beat.
I pause as the word handsomely floats around in my mind.
Lord knows I could use the money.
But an NDA?
Exclusivity?
Living on an estate?
It’s a lot to ask for a job I didn’t even apply for, let alone know how to do.
“May I think about it?” I ask, my hesitation clear.
There’s a brief pause before she responds, her tone clipped but polite.
“Of course. You have until 11:59 p.m. tonight to accept, or the interview request will be rescinded.”
The firm deadline throws me off, but it doesn’t matter.
I already know I’m going to turn it down.
“Cool. I’ll let you know,” I say flatly before hanging up .
I slump back in my chair, staring at the ceiling while Tum Tum purrs contentedly in my lap, oblivious to my existential crisis.
This whole situation is ridiculous yet strangely intriguing.
And I do need a job.
Maybe…
I need to start taking risks.
I’ve played it safe for too long, permanently settling for the bare minimum.
Perhaps it’s time to step out of my comfort zone.
After all, staying comfortable has only led me into the most uncomfortable situations.
But instead of making any real decisions, I push the thought aside and open my laptop, convincing myself I’ll be productive.
I start by searching “local attorneys,” which quickly spirals into Googling “how to infiltrate a corrupt justice system to prove my innocence and get my job back.”
Spoiler alert: there’s no helpful guide.
Needless to say, what started as research turns into a full-blown rabbit hole, and before I know it, I’m watching back-to-back episodes of Law & Order until it’s time to get ready for Izzy’s grand opening, aka a breeding ground for Greer’s most pretentious elite.
After a long, hot shower, I stand in front of the mirror, debating whether to go for effortlessly chic or elegantly polished.
Eventually, I settle on both.
My hair falls in loose curls, framing my face with just the right amount of I woke up like this sophistication.
Thanks to Serena’s outrageously expensive wardrobe, I have options.
I select a soft pink gown with a high slit that whispers elegance while screaming, ‘I’m thriving’ even though my bank account says otherwise.
I pair it with simple diamond earrings—just enough sparkle to say classy, but not trying too hard.
As I take one final look in the mirror, something unexpected happens—a flicker of confidence blooms inside me.
My dress hugs every curve and complements my deep brown skin like it was made for me.
I feel powerful.
I remember the days I was trapped in a loveless marriage, drowning in self-doubt, questioning my worth.
I truly forgot how beautiful I was.
How strong I was.
But those moments seem like shadows of a past life.
Now, as I stand here, I recognize myself for who I am, who I always was—the best, the baddest, the most beautiful, the most capable, and the most indestructible woman I’ve ever met .
Suddenly, a knock on my bedroom door jolts me from my self-affirming thoughts.
“You ready, Cinderella? Your pumpkin carriage awaits,” my mom’s voice calls out, light and teasing.
I can’t help but smile.
No matter how blunt my parents are, they always know how to make me laugh, even when I don’t want to.
“I’m not sure you qualify as my fairy godmother, Mom,” I call back, slipping into my heels.
“But points for enthusiasm.”
The door creaks open, and she peeks her head inside, giving me a once-over with that sharp, discerning gaze only moms have.
“Fairy godmother?” she repeats with a grin.
“More like the one keeping you sane while figuring out your life.”
I sigh, the moment of levity fading.
“I don’t need help being an adult,” I say, trying to keep my voice firm.
She waves me off like I’ve just told her the sky is purple.
“I know, I know. You’re a grown woman. Blah, blah, blah.” She steps into the room fully, hands on her hips.
“Your father and I just want you to move forward in life. There’s a thin line between taking time to find yourself and fearing what you might discover when you do. Now, what the heck do we have to do to get you out of our house? I’m so tired of having boring sex.”
My mouth falls open.
“Mom!”
She shrugs, unbothered.
“What? It’s the truth.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself.
“You’re impossible.”
But then her expression softens, and she steps closer, her voice dropping to something quieter, something real.
“Kerry, listen to me. I know your dad, and I can be… a lot. We meddle, we push, we joke too much. But it’s because we love you. Always have. We’re proud of our sweet little unemployed daughter.”
“Mom!” I groan, swatting at her playfully.
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” She chuckles, then grows serious again.
“But seriously, you’re amazing, Kerry. And though we pressure you with our dreams of happiness for you, you don’t owe us a thing. You don’t owe anyone anything—not your time, not your sacrifices, not your well-being, and definitely not your happiness.
“If you ever felt like you had to stay with Cory or put your dreams on hold just to keep us or anyone else happy…
I’m sorry for that.
” Her words land with a we ight I didn’t expect, stirring up feelings I’ve kept buried under layers of stubbornness and pride.
“Mom…” I start, but my voice catches.
She gently cups my cheek, brushing away a tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen.
“You survived the hell Cory put you through, and you’re still standing tall. You’re strong. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. All your dad and I want is for you to be happy, whole, and confident. And you define what that looks like, what it feels like. No one else.”
I blink back tears and pull her into a hug.
“Thank you, Mom. That means more than I can say.”
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, hers filled with pride.
“You’re beautiful, you know that? You remind me of myself at your age—all fire and determination. Tonight, I want you to have fun. Celebrate your friend’s success. And remember, yours is right around the corner.” Her words wrap around me like armor.
“You think so?” I whisper.
She nods, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“I know so. Now, go out there and enjoy yourself. No overthinking. No talking about jobs or bills. Just have fun.”
I give her one last squeeze, grab my pink satin clutch, and step out into the crisp evening air—a renewed sense of confidence blooms within me.
Sure, I’m unemployed and on the brink of a meltdown, but it’s not the end of the world.
Everyone deserves a stress-free night of fun, and maybe tonight will be the distraction I need.
Or better yet, the turning point I’ve been waiting for.
But as the cool air hits my skin, my stomach tightens as a grim realization hits.
I’m probably going to have to face him.
Cory Martin.
My shitty ex-husband.
Still, I square my shoulders, my heels clicking against the pavement with purpose.
Mom’s right.
I don’t owe anyone a damn thing.
And tonight, I’ll remind Cory, the world, and myself who the hell I am.
Happy.
Resilient.
Strong.
And absolutely no one’s stepping stone ever again.