Chapter 26 Jordan
JORDAN
The house feels too quiet without Henry’s babbling or the sounds of our evening routine.
I’m wiping down kitchen counters that are already spotless, needing something to keep my hands busy.
If I sit still, if I let my mind wander, the thoughts creep back in—Amy lying motionless in that hospital bed, the weight of responsibility I’m carrying alone, the growing distance between Alexa and me that I can’t seem to bridge.
So, I clean. I’ve already reorganized the pantry, scrubbed the bathroom sink, and vacuumed the living room carpet twice. The house doesn’t need any of this attention, but movement keeps the restlessness at bay.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I pause mid-wipe to check it.
Can we talk? I know it’s late, but it’s important.
Alexa. My pulse quickens as I check the time. Nine thirty p.m. Henry’s been asleep for over an hour, and I’ve been cleaning like a man possessed since I got home from the hospital. I guess whatever she needs to discuss couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning.
Of course. Everything okay?
I’ll be right over.
I set down the dish towel and run a hand through my hair, trying to imagine what could be so urgent.
Maybe Henry had a rough day. Maybe she needs to adjust her schedule for the week.
Maybe she’s finally going to tell me what I’ve done wrong, why the easy warmth between us has been replaced by careful professionalism.
When she knocks on the front door five minutes later, I can see through the glass that she’s holding a folded piece of paper. Her expression is serious, almost grim, and suddenly I know this isn’t about scheduling or Henry’s routine.
“Thanks for seeing me so late,” she says as I open the door. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail like she threw it on quickly. But there’s something different about her posture, something resolved and determined that makes my stomach drop.
“Come in. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, thank you.” She steps into the living room but doesn’t sit down, just stands there holding that piece of paper like it might explode. “I need to tell you something.”
The formal tone in her voice confirms my worst suspicions. This isn’t a conversation between friends or even employer and employee. This is an ending.
“Okay.” I stay standing too, suddenly afraid to get too comfortable.
“I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice.” She holds out the folded paper, and I can see her hand trembling slightly. “My last day will be Friday after next.”
It feels like the floor opens up beneath my feet. I take the paper automatically, but I don’t unfold it. I can’t seem to process what she’s saying.
“I don’t understand. Is this about the long hours? Because I can adjust my schedule.”
“It’s not about the hours.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “This is what’s best for everyone. You’ll have time to find a good replacement nanny service.”
“Alexa, wait.” I set the paper on the coffee table without reading it. “If I’ve done something wrong, if I’ve made you uncomfortable in any way…”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” She looks directly at me for the first time since she arrived. “This is my decision. I’ve thought about it carefully, and it’s time for me to move on.”
Move on. The phrase feels like a knife twisting in my chest.
“Is this about another job? Because I can match whatever salary they’re offering. Or increase your current pay. Whatever you need.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not about money.”
“Then what is it about?” The question comes out more desperate than I intended. “I thought we were working well together. Henry’s comfortable with you. You said you enjoyed taking care of him.”
“I do enjoy taking care of Henry. He’s an amazing little boy.” Her voice softens when she mentions my nephew. “But I need to think about what’s best for my family long-term.”
“Your family?”
“I’m putting the house on the market. A smaller place makes more sense for just me and Ash.”
The second bombshell hits even harder than the first. She’s not just leaving the job. She’s leaving the neighborhood. Leaving me completely.
“You’re selling your grandmother’s house?” I can hear the panic in my own voice and hate how obvious it is.
“It’s too big for just the two of us. And honestly, we could use a fresh start.”
A fresh start. Away from me, away from this situation, away from whatever mess I’ve created between us.
I want to argue with her, to tell her she’s making a mistake, that we can figure this out. But the careful way she’s standing, the prepared speech, the formal notice letter sitting on my coffee table… this isn’t a discussion. This is a decision she’s already made.
“When did you decide this?” I ask, sinking onto the couch because standing suddenly feels impossible.
“Recently.” She remains standing, keeping a physical distance between us. “I’ve been thinking about making some changes, and this feels like the right time.”
“Because of me.” It’s not a question.
“Because of what’s best for my son and me.” She doesn’t deny it, which somehow makes it worse, and I don’t blame her. How could I?
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
I want to tell her that I’ve been miserable these past days, that work feels empty without having her and Henry and Ash to come home to.
I want to explain that I’ve been keeping my distance because I care about her too much, not too little.
But what’s the point? She’s already decided to leave. And maybe she’s right. Maybe this is for the best.
“I should go.” She glances toward the door. “I just wanted to give you as much notice as possible.”
“Alexa.” I stand up, not sure what I want to say but knowing I can’t let her leave like this. “I want you to know that having you here, watching you with Henry, seeing how patient and kind you are… it’s meant more to me than you know.”
Something shifts in her expression, a crack in the professional facade. “Jordan…”
“I know I haven’t been easy to work for lately. I know I’ve been distant and too focused on work. But you’ve made this whole impossible situation bearable. You’ve made Henry feel safe and loved, and you’ve been incredible with Ash. I don’t know how I’ll ever replace what you’ve given us.”
She bites her lip, and for a moment I think she might say something real, something that explains what’s really happening here.
Instead, she just nods. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“Will you at least tell me where you’re planning to move? So I can… so Henry can visit sometime?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Probably across town. Maybe somewhere with a community pool for Ash.”
Across town. Far enough that we’d never run into each other accidentally. Far enough that this really would be goodbye.
“I hope you find exactly what you’re looking for,” I tell her, and I mean it, even though the thought of her finding happiness somewhere else makes me unbearable sad at the same time.
“I hope you do too.”
She’s almost to the door when I realize I haven’t asked the most important question.
“Will you let me know how you’re doing? How Ash is doing? I’d hate to lose touch completely.”
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “I think a clean break is probably best for everyone.”
A clean break. No contact, no updates, no lingering connections. As if the past month never happened, as if we never became important to each other.
“Of course. You’re probably right.”
After she leaves, I sit in my living room holding her resignation letter and feeling like my world has just shifted on its axis. The house that felt too quiet before now feels hollow.
I unfold the paper and read her neat handwriting:
Dear Jordan, Please accept this letter as my formal two-week notice. My last day of employment will be Friday, October 2nd. I will do everything possible to ensure a smooth transition for Henry’s care. Thank you for the opportunity to work with your family. Sincerely, Alexa Costello
Professional. Polite. Completely impersonal. Like she’s resigning from any job.
I set the letter on the coffee table and lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Before the end of the two weeks, I’ll have to find someone new to care for Henry.
Someone who doesn’t know his favorite songs or the exact way to rub his back when he’s fussy.
Someone who won’t understand that he likes to babble at his reflection in the mirror or that he gets excited when he sees birds outside the window.
But losing professional childcare isn’t what’s making my chest feel tight.
It’s knowing that in two weeks, Alexa will be gone.
No more seeing her car in the driveway when I come home from work.
No more brief conversations about Henry’s day.
No more stolen glances when she thinks I’m not looking.
No more moments where I catch her watching me with something that might be longing.
I’ve been telling myself that keeping distance was the right choice, that protecting our professional relationship was more important than exploring whatever was growing between us. Now she’s leaving anyway, and I’ve lost both the professional relationship and any chance of something more.
Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe this is what happens when you’re too scared to take a chance on something real. You end up with nothing.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ferrera: Still want to go fishing this weekend? Weather’s supposed to be perfect.
I stare at the message for a long time before typing back: Yes. I could use the distraction.
Because in two weeks, distraction might be all I have left.