CHAPTER 17
Valentina
S wiping a cloth across the counter, damp with Mom’s trusted vinegar solution, I begin the routine at a new house. She packed me off with three bottles, insisting, “The counter always needs to be sanitized.” To combat the pungent vinegar smell, a mist of lemon essential oil sweeps over the surface, transforming the kitchen air with a refreshing citrus scent. Nearby, I’ve lined up a collection of essential oils for cleaning, for the diffuser, and for homemade concoctions like bug repellent and sunscreen.
The pasta and chicken dinner, Eden’s favorite meal, was delicious. The kids chattered on over their day’s stories while their dad listened. Afterward, I requested they help clear the table and load the dishwasher. “Your dad made dinner, so we get to clean.”
They helped without any fuss. Then following some games and story time, the boys asked me to join them as their dad told another story. Once he finished his captivating storytelling, I wished the boys good night and returned to the kitchen. Eden had already gone to her room, and Jason seemed to be heading there as well after tucking in the boys.
Approaching footsteps catch my attention as I hang the wet washcloth on the stove.
A flutter kicks up in my chest when Jason appears. Suddenly self-conscious about my outfit, I glance down at my sweats and yellow T-shirt where the sun shines out of the words It’s summertime . My professional PJs.
“Hey.” He enters the kitchen.
I can only manage a soft hey in response, gripping the counter for support.
He sits on the stool at the island, and I sit across from him. The corners of his mouth curl up as he rests his strong arms on the marble countertop. “Your braiding skills make me look like I didn’t get any training. She’ll never let me anywhere near her head again.”
A laugh escapes. “You have your daughter’s heart. That’s what counts.”
He gives me a thoughtful look, his blue eyes sincere. “Thank you for today.”
“Your kids make it easy.”
“I hope.” His gaze drifts to the essential oils lined up on the counter. “The boys couldn’t stop talking about your Nerf battle with them, and Eden couldn’t stop looking at her nails. Sometimes I forget she needs to do all those things.”
His doubt and uncertainty stings. Can he not see he’s doing an incredible job with his kids? “If all fathers in the world did half the job you do, Grumps, many kids would be in better shape.” I mean every word.
He shakes his head. “Eden still thinks her mother is coming any day this week.”
“I’ll do my best to distract her.” That’s a promise. Now, I’m eager to know more about him. “Why’d their mom leave?”
His laugh rings hollow, void of any amusement. He drags a hand down his face, but can’t wipe away the weariness etched deep in the lines around his eyes. “I tried to blame your show for it.”
A knot clenches in my chest. My show aimed to empower women to know how to do things on their own and to claim independence, not to fracture families. A heaviness settles on my shoulders as his words place a burden of unintended consequences there. “I’m sorry.”
“It makes it easier if we have someone to blame.” He speaks softer, an undercurrent of reassurance flowing through his words. “I finally listened to bunch of your shows’ reruns. What you say is clear to those who need the message.”
My muscles tighten, bracing for a caveat that never comes.
Instead, he smiles faintly. “I like how it motivates women to gain their confidence.”
“I guess it did a lot of damage.” I’m still cringing.
“Daisy was going to leave with or without your show.” His eyes lock with mine, earnest and clear. I almost imagine he can sense my inner turmoil. “You didn’t tip any scales that weren’t already tipping.”
The words massage my taut muscles, his assurance a balm. Yet the sting lingers, the guilt reluctant to fade.
I curl my finger around one of my braids as silence envelops us, thick and heavy.
He shifts on the stool. “I worked hard to give her the luxurious life she wanted. I started Family Sphere and ended up spending more time working there than with her and the kids. The twins were overwhelming for her.”
I hold my breath. Any sound might fracture his openness.
“She suffered from postpartum depression after the boys were born.” His voice, fragile and laden with regret, is barely a whisper now. “Our marriage started to slide down a slope from there.” A leaden pause precedes his next words. “She left on Eden’s seventh birthday.”
“Oh, Jason.” Compassion overwhelms me. I can’t bring myself to call him Grumps, so I reach out to cover my hand over his on the table. “How terrible Eden must feel.”
He looks off in the distance.
“Did you go after her?” Maybe she just needed a break. “Perhaps talk things over?”
“She made everything clear when she called to say she was done.” His eyes reflect the unspoken sadness now permeating the air around us. This poor man. “Having kids was my idea.” He swallows. His gaze locks on the chore charts magnetized to the fridge. “I’ll never again persuade anyone into doing something they don’t want to. She left. That meant she wanted to be left alone. I respect that.”
I wouldn’t know how to counsel his family offhand. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Enough about me.” He shifts, noticing my hand on his, so I retract it, my cheeks warming. “What about your family? You talk a lot about your mom and siblings in your shows, but not your dad?”
I missed having my dad around, but by God’s grace and Mami’s overwhelming love and support, my siblings and I turned out fine. “I was about Eden’s age when my mom kicked him out.”
Jason’s eyebrows pull together. “Why?”
“Dad cheated on her, and she went all crazy.” I shake my head, the memory vivid and sharp as if cut from glass. “When he pulled up, Mom was waiting on the front steps with cans of spray paint in hand. My poor dad remained in the car, sensing something wasn’t right.”
“Paloma came after your dad with spray paint?” Jason’s brow arches, but a rumble like a chuckle threatens to burst from his chest.
“I think Dad was hoping to apologize when he lowered the car window. But Mom started spraying his face before he could get the window up. Then she sprayed the word cheater in red paint all over the car and some other words I wouldn’t want to mention alongside them. She topped it off by almost blacking out the windshield and telling him not to ever ‘blacken the driveway or her doorway again.’”
The absurdity unfurls a laugh from deep within me. I struggle to continue, clutching my stomach.
Jason leans back. His deep laugh mingles with mine, dissolving into shared amusement.
“Now that vehicle must’ve been a great headline for a gossip column,” he says, still laughing.
“Right?”
“My father’s absence is not as fun a story to tell.” Humor softens his words. “We have something in common.”
“Definitely not grumpiness.” I shake a finger at him.
“Obviously, you’re grumpier.” He winks, grinning. Who is this man? “We were both raised by single moms.”
“Both hardworking and passionate about their children,” I add, a thread of connection tightening between us.
As Jason shares more about his life, the space between us fills with an unspoken understanding, a mutual respect for the struggles and strengths of single parents. I find myself more drawn to his story, more invested in his life. With each word, a bond grows, rooted in shared experiences and nurtured by collective resilience.
But we both know the ache of an absent parent. I’m determined to do my best to distract Eden from her mother’s absence. That reminds me. The day after tomorrow, I have tickets to a Yankees spring training game, an outing the kids might enjoy. I’ll see what Jason thinks.
The following day, Eden requests we play volleyball, so we string up the net, transforming their yard into a makeshift court. Her enthusiasm is palpable, her eyes alight. However, the boys, still caught in their soccer habits, send the volleyball sailing far with ambitious kicks instead of controlled passes. Eden frowns and rebukes them, frustrated by their disregard for the game’s rules. Eventually, I redirect the boys to a corner with a soccer ball, leaving Eden and me to focus on her volleys and passes over the net. I also guide her again through positioning her hands for a bump, the footwork for a serve, and the motion for a proper set.
“Like this?” Her form improves with each pass.
“Exactly like that!” I clap as she manages a particularly good serve. With her enthusiasm infectious, the yard feels like our private court.
“Maybe I’ll play volleyball when I don’t dance anymore.”
“You definitely should.” I toss the ball for another serve. “You should tell your dad. He can look into some recreational leagues that don’t require much commitment.”
“I don’t want to disappoint him.” She pauses and pulls her phone from her sweatpants pockets.
I try not to wince at her constant checking for a call that might never come.
***
Valentina
W EDNESDAY IS GAME DAY . With Jason’s permission, I take the kids first to Mami’s house, where her excitement energizes the kitchen. She teaches them to make tortillas. Her hands pat the dough as she guides the boys’ smaller, clumsier ones. “Like this, just round and flat.”
Thuds of dough hitting the counter accentuated the kids’ laughter.
“We’re going to make some chicken quesadillas.” She ushers me to guide the kids in rolling the tortillas flat and cooking them before she shows them how to lay the cheese and chicken between the freshly made tortillas. “It’s all about balance in flavor and making sure every bite is as good as the last.”
I’m inspired to take pictures.
As they cook, Mami regales them with stories of her childhood in Venezuela, including impromptu soccer games in the dusty streets with cousins and family gatherings where she learned these recipes. And I go through all sorts of pre-game security measures so the kids don’t get lost and know what to do should we get separated. “In your pants pockets, you each have your dad’s number, mine, and Carlos’.”
“And the security guards?” asks Atticus, so I again tell him they will find a staff member at the game should they need to make a call.
Carlos, ever the enthusiast, is bent on preparing the kids for the game after lunch.
“I can’t believe you’ve never caught a ball with a glove. T-ball is not real baseball.” He peppers his lessons with amusing details about baseball’s finer points. “Before the game, we have to get you guys some merch.” He shakes a finger at them. “You’re not a Yankees fan without a jersey.”
“Leave them alone.” I roll my eyes. “They are Mets fans.” Or so Jason told me when I requested to take the kids to the game.
“Either way, kids, you’ll look like real fans when you show up in the right gear.”
So, before we head to the stadium, we stop by Carlos’ buddy’s street stall for baseball merch and deck the kids out in brand-new Yankees jerseys. I chuckle. My wardrobe already houses three jerseys in different sizes, gifts from a few of the countless games Carlos has dragged me to over the years.
It’s not hard to use up the six tickets between me, the kids, Carlos, and Leah, who happens to be on spring break. Her husband has to work and isn’t interested in going to baseball games anyway.
As we settle into our stadium seats, excitement buzzes around us. The smell of hot dogs, peanuts, and fried foods permeates the air, adding to the vibrant atmosphere. I worry the kids might find the training game dull, and Eden’s frequent phone checking confirms my fears. However, the boys’ enthusiasm brims over when the game starts. They barrage Carlos with questions about every play. He explains with animated gestures and a broad smile until even the most mundane plays seem thrilling.
“Didn’t realize she’s so attached to her phone.” Leah, seated at my side, whispers into my ear over the cheer around us.
I turn to her so Eden doesn’t see me mouth, “It’s a long story.”
“And you’re still in a standoff with the dad?”
I breathe, unable to sum up what Jason is. He’s protective of his family, which makes him a winner. “He’s not that bad.”
Leah’s brow arches. “Care to share more about that transition?”
Eden taps my shoulder, asking for a soda when a beverage vendor passes by, saving me from the conversation.
By the time we head home, we’re all worn out. But at least, the drive unfolds quietly, the steady hum of the engine blending with the rhythmic breathing of all the kids asleep. Eden’s breathing is calm, her fingers still curled around her phone—clinging to the connection she seeks. If only I could reach out to her mom, I think perhaps, I could persuade her to visit, even for an hour. A pang tightens around my heart as I steal a glance at Eden’s peaceful face in the rearview mirror. Somehow, I must do more for her.
The following day, Ethan, the pastor, requests my help watching his kids while he visits a church member in the hospital. With all the kids together at Jason’s house, we fill time with painting and free time to play. After Ethan picks up his kids, I take Jason’s kids into town for a shopping spree. We pick out Eden’s Easter dress and grab new clothes for the boys as Jason requested.
We wrap up our outing at Jump and Hop, an indoor trampoline park. While the boys throw themselves into the lively chaos, enjoying boundless thrills, Eden’s mood doesn’t match the vibrant atmosphere. Eventually, she joins me on one of the benches lining the jumping area where adults observe their kids.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” My fingers trace the end of her ponytail.
Her gaze flickers to the phone in her lap. Resignation soon clouds those sunrays of hope. “Just waiting for my mom to call.”
“The week’s not over.” I rub her back in soothing strokes. “Maybe she’ll just surprise you.” Even as I say it, I’m holding onto hope myself, silently pleading she’ll come through.
Eden’s half smile wobbles, uncertainty shadowing her usually bright eyes. Sweet thing. Please, God, protect her heart.
While the kids clean up before dinner that night, I update Jason about the day and Eden’s continued hopeful anticipation. After the meal, he devotes extra time to her, letting me take over tuck-in duties with the boys. They are a bundle of energetic charm, their eyes wide as they plead for bedtime stories. Atticus insists on an airplane adventure. Felix wants a video gamer to be the hero.
Good thing I took creative writing classes in college. I weave their requests into a story, drawing from everything I learned about narrative structure and character development.
When I finish, Jason must still be in Eden’s room. Her light’s still on. Exhausted and needing time to pray for this family, Eden in particular, I retreat to my room.
During my prayer time, inspiration strikes. I used to write in my gratitude journal when I was in high school, and it helped me focus on the positive rather than the negative.
Gratitude is on the tip of my tongue when I wake the next day. So as we sit around the kitchen island before going swimming, I introduce the theme of starting each day with a grateful heart. “I’m going to start writing in my gratitude journal again.” I tell the kids how I used to keep a journal. “Each time we count our blessings, we’re less likely to focus on what we don’t have.”
“I want a journal too.” Atticus lifts his swim towel, and Felix echoes the request.
“When can we go shopping for journals?” Eden asks.
I check the clock. “I suppose we could go before swimming.”
We’re loading the Audi with a beach bag and a cooler of snacks. At the jumping place yesterday, we heard about a new adventure pool one town over. The kids are excited to check it out, though it’s cloudy with a chance of rain or snow.
As I swing open the back door to usher the kids into the car, a sleek sedan pulls up and parks behind my Civic in the driveway. The driver rushes to the back and swings open the door.
A sophisticated woman and a distinguished gentleman step out. Both appear to be in their sixties. They approach with smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes.
“Glad we caught you before you left. Look at you all so grown.” The woman waves painted-black fingernails, and her heels click-clack the pavement.
I hesitate, my hand on the Audi’s driver’s seat door. “Kids, do you recognize our visitors?”
“They’re our grandchildren.” The woman’s formal voice doesn’t have kids rushing toward them.
The boys are hesitant when I coax them to greet their grandparents—at least I assume they’re Daisy’s parents. The twins offer quick, obligatory hellos before sliding into the car.
Eden, however, pauses longer. “Where’s Mom? Have you seen her?”
“Darling, we haven’t seen Daisy in months.” The woman gives a dismissive wave, then focuses on me. “You may go, miss. We’ll take the kids out for the day.”
Eden looks back at me, her body language tense and cautious.
“We’ll bring them back tonight.” The gentleman waves me off, expecting compliance.
I have a dashcam mounted on the Audi’s dashboard. If they are planning to kidnap the kids and me, the police will have a starting place. “They’re not going with you unless I come.”
They must’ve been here before. Why would Jason tell them where he lived if he didn’t want them close to his family?
“No need for you to come along.” The woman rolls her eyes as if I insulted her.
“I need to call and ask Jason first.” Although I was looking forward to spending time with them at the pool, it’s important they see their family members. I dial Jason’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail. I wince as I turn back to the couple. “Sorry. I can’t let them go without permission.”
The woman advances, black nails tapping her hips. “They are our grandchildren,” she repeats.
“And I’m their nanny.” I keep a steady tone while Eden moves around me to get in the car. “Their dad didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“They’re our grandkids, for Pete’s sake!” the man snaps.
They don’t seem so enthusiastic to rush to you. Keeping that to myself, I apologize again when the woman snaps and says something under her breath. I cross my arms and close the back doors so they get the memo and march off to their car and drive away.
Jason calls back two hours later. Standing by the window in the adventure pool area, phone pressed to my ear, I recount the incident. The kids’ joyful squeals echo off the glass, a sharp contrast to my tension.
“You did the right thing.” Jason’s voice cuts through the cacophony. “They disappear for years and think they can just show up whenever without notice. They were the same when Daisy was growing up, always traveling overseas and leaving her behind in school. She used to say she felt more like a doll they took off the shelf and played with now and then, than a child they had a relationship with. A good nanny does what you did.”
I blink, absorbing his words. Was a compliment tucked into his frustration? And was I glimpsing a bit of why Daisy didn’t know how to be involved in her own kids’ lives?
He thanks me again, his tone lighter. “What escapades are you up to today?”
“We’re at the adventure pool.” I glance back to the towering splash section where the kids splash and play with other kids.
“Sounds like they’re having fun.” He can’t miss the kids’ happy shrieks in the background.
A smile spreads across my face. “They are.”
“Are you swimming too?”
My heart flutters. Is he flirting or genuinely interested in knowing what’s going on?
“Are you being a nosy Rosie, Grumps?” I keep myself from overly breathing through the phone as I’m gasping for air.
“Just keeping tabs on my kids’ nanny.”
“What a good boss.” I twirl a strand of my hair with my finger. My gaze drifts to the play area where the kids are still having a blast.
“Just doing my job.” He lets out a chuckle. “Make sure you’re having fun too, okay? It’s not all work.” His voice is soft, the most tender moment I’ve ever experienced with him. Warmth rushes through me. I must be dreaming.
Then he adds, “See you at home.”
“Okay.” I’m still breathless. This easy exchange does nothing but deepen my attraction to my boss, to the wrong man.
Could it be that this family is where I belong? For this season in life anyway. Could it be why I’d not considered looking into the counseling job at Leah’s school?
When we leave the pool, the kids plead to return the next day. With spring break almost over, I promise to bring them back tomorrow afternoon. This indoor pool outshines our local pool. Only twenty miles away, it will serve as a perfect reward to motivate the kids to keep up with their chores. This week, Felix has barely asked to play video games. We’ve been too caught up in our activities for him to think about sitting behind the console.
The next day, I’m in the pool playing catch with the boys. A few minutes earlier, Eden had stepped out, but I keep glancing over at her. She’s checking her phone again. I hurl the beach ball toward the boys. As they leap and Atticus snags it midair, my attention is pulled back to Eden.
Her expression crumples, and she flings her phone into the pool.
“Eden!” I shout, my voice cutting through the noise.
I tell the boys to keep swimming. Then I make my way out of the pool. “Sweetie,” I call out as she wraps her towel around her shoulders, her lips trembling. My heart sinks. The boys and their new friends beckon me, but I ignore them, rushing to Eden, who’s beside a bench. “What happened, sweetheart?”
“She’s not coming.”
“Oh, honey.” I reach to pull her into an embrace, but she stands stiff, that determined look in her eyes. I recognize that posture all too well—the effort to appear strong in heartache.
“Can we go to Sips and Scripts after this?” she asks.
“On the way home, sure.” I’ll do anything to help her forget this moment, though I’m not sure the bookstop will still be open.
I head back in the pool to retrieve her drenched phone. If we bury it in rice, we might be able to resurrect it. But right now, I’ll make the rest of the day as light and enjoyable for Eden as possible, anything to ease the sting.
Throughout my media career, a desire to prove myself—to show someone out there I have what it takes—drove me. It wasn’t about doing my best. It was about being the best, surpassing expectations not for my fulfillment but to validate my capabilities.
Now, I want to give my all for a different reason. This shift isn’t about others’ perceptions or external validations. It’s a genuine desire to excel from a place of personal integrity and passion. However, while liberating, this doesn’t guarantee success.
As we drive back, snowflakes dance through the sky, painting the world in a wintry spectacle despite April beginning on Monday. How unpredictable nature is, much like my own circumstances.
With snow, traffic seems worse. It’s nothing compared to New York’s real traffic, but the road demands my full attention. The twins chatter in the back seat, infusing the car with their lively energy. Eden sits in silence, even more subdued than usual.
Then the car jerks. I grapple with the steering wheel to maintain control. An airbag deploys and smacks into my face. The force rocks me to my core. My heart races, adrenaline surging as the kids shout. A stunned moment passes before I realize we’ve been hit from the side—my side.
“What happened?” Eden shrieks.
“I–I don’t know.” I put the car into park, turn to look in the back, and draw out a long breath. Their faces may be fear-struck, but the kids are alive. I assess them for injuries, every bit of me shaking. “I’m so sorry, sweeties.”
“I want my dad.” Eden snuffles.
I dial 9-1-1, but emergency services are already enroute. I try to push my door open, but it’s stuck. I need to get them out of the fumy car! I slide past the steering wheel to the passenger door and open it before letting the kids out.
I embrace the kids, and the boys cling to me. Pensive, Eden stands aside. The snow flurries have stopped and barely stuck to the ground, but it's frigid. From the back of the car, I get the blanket I’d put in for emergencies, and I wrap it around the boys. Since Eden has her hoodie over her wet hair, she should be okay for the time being.
A man checks to see if we’re okay. He, too, appears unharmed though shaken. After one look at his car, I thank God he survived. Our SUV’s robust build must have spared us from a worse outcome.
I contact Jason next, updating him.
“Are the kids okay?” His frantic voice rises. “Where are you?”
“The kids are fine,” I insist.
The twins’ small hands clutch my arms for comfort. Eden, just a short distance away, appears much further away, so aloof and detached.
“Can I talk to Eden?” Jason asks.
When I hand the phone to her, she responds with brief affirmatives. Then a snippet of their conversation sends a chill down my spine. “She was talking on the phone.”
What? I try to focus on comforting the boys.
Soon Eden hands back the phone, and Jason’s voice hardens. “How could you be distracted when driving my kids?”
“What?” My chest heats as Eden avoids my gaze. “You think I’m that reckless?”
My body trembles from the chill air, the crash’s impact, and the accusation. The emotional pain stings more than the physical, though.
A fire truck and paramedics arrive.
“The first responders are here. I gotta go.” I’m done with this man. I take back the last promise I made to myself before any of this happened.
As a police officer takes the report, the man who hit us admits his fault, which is a small solace.
Paramedics insist on checking the kids and me. Although dizzy, I claim I’m fine as my frustration with Jason outweighs any physical discomfort.
When he arrives, the kids rush to him. Once assured of their safety, he turns to me. “Are you okay?”
I nod. My head pounds with each beat of my heart.
We linger at the scene until the tow truck arrives. Then he instructs the driver on where to take the Audi. Before we leave, I move our items to his car. I also take the dashcam with me.
As we drive back to their home, Jason scolds me again. He arrived after the police report, so he still thinks I’m at fault. “If anything happened to my kids—”
“They’re fine.” My head throbs with each word, my patience fraying.
“Still, I expected you to be more careful.” The grave words boom in my ears, perhaps magnified by the lingering car crash. “I should have never let you drive them anywhere.”
I rub my temples to soothe the intensifying ache, but his words cut deep, harsher than I think he realizes. I bite the tip of my tongue and focus on the dull pain spreading across my skull.
“I just—”
“Stop yelling at Val!” Atticus shouts through the tension. A squishy ball sails from the back seat.
Jason ducks and swerves before straightening in the lane. “Who threw that? Atticus! Felix!”
“Val is nice!” Atticus’s hoarse defense tugs at my heart. I know Eden didn’t mean to accuse me. She had to take her anger out on someone.
Tears prick my eyes as I turn toward the boys. Streetlights illuminate their faces. My heart swells at their terrified looks. “It’s not good to throw things, even if you’re upset.” I address Atticus, my voice as shaky as the rest of me. “Especially not to hit your dad.”
He remains silent, so does everyone in the car. Despite the chaos, his support touches me, but the wedge between Jason and me grows heavier with each mile.
By the time we pull into the driveway, I’m overwhelmed. Tears blur my vision as he parks. I hand him the dashcam footage, then step out.
The boys burst from the car and rush to me. “Stay with us, Val.” Atticus wraps his arms around me.
Felix tugs at my other hand. “Can you stay the night and go to the Easter egg hunt with us tomorrow?”
“Your daddy needs some time with you.” My voice cracks like static on an old TV. It’s hard to leave, hard to deny their pleas, but I need space to clear my head.
Eden heads into the house without a word, her struggles evident.
When I’m finally in the comfort of my car, tears obscure my vision as I drive away. “I thought I was bonding with the kids—and Jason.” I shudder a breath, speaking to God this time. “Was I not supposed to reconsider when Jason came to my house, Lord?”
Gratitude insists a small voice.
Right, I should count today’s blessings.
No one suffered serious injury tonight. The boys had a good time at the pool. They don’t want me to leave. Those are positives to make the day’s entry.
Whatever other good things came out of the day, perhaps God will reveal later.
I’d slacked on job hunting this week, caught up in the family I was serving. Maybe it’s time to refocus, to reconsider the counselor position at Leah’s school if it’s still available. Spring break is over, and they’ve likely found someone. Still, it’s worth checking. It’s time for a new start where my efforts are seen and valued. But where?
What if this is where God wants me, and He’s testing me to see if I can depend on Him rather than take off to another dead-end job?
I can’t tell which is which. But I’ll never let anyone make me feel less worthy than I am. And I’ll never let anyone assume they have power over me. First, I need to quit once again.