Chapter 3

Christian

I guide the scalpel with a steady hand, each movement meticulous and measured. The heart beneath my fingers is a battlefield, riddled with blockages I have to navigate.

“Clamp,” I order without looking up, my voice even despite the crescendo of beeps from the surrounding monitors. The assisting nurse places the instrument in my hand, and I redirect the flow of blood.

“Let’s do it,” I tell her as we prepare to turn off the bypass machine, which has made sure the patient’s blood continued circulating while I repaired the damage to his heart caused by years of use and abuse.

The machine shuts down, and the heart monitor screams its solid line.

“Come on…” I murmur. I administer open-heart CPR, reminding the heart how to beat. I won’t lose this one. Not today. With a jolt, the heart beats. It’s a battle of wills, mine against the silent reaper hovering at the edge of the operating table, and I’ll be damned if I won’t win.

I nod after a moment. “Okay, let’s close him up.” With the final suture tied, the heart steadies into a strong, reliable rhythm. Victory . Relief floods me. “Dr. Morgan, you can finish here,” I say to my resident.

“Dr. Bradford, you’re needed outside,” a nurse tells me as I peel off my bloodied gloves.

“Can’t it wait?” My question is rhetorical. They wouldn’t interrupt unless it was necessary. I stride through the double doors, ready to confront whatever crisis awaits while keeping one eye on Dr. Morgan.

“Here, she needs you.” A nurse practically thrusts the familiar car seat into my arms. Addison gazes up at me, her wide grin revealing the first hints of baby teeth.

“Where’s Anya?” I ask, scanning the hall for the latest nanny. This one’s actually been a fixture in Addison’s life for a few weeks now. I thought things were sorted. I don’t have time to deal with this!

“She quit,” the nurse replies, her tone disapproving.

“Quit?” The word feels foreign on my tongue. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t been home in three days. She said she couldn’t do it alone.”

“Three days? She’s exaggerating,” I counter, annoyance flaring. It’s been two nights, and those were spent here, at the hospital, the on-call room serving as a makeshift bedroom, though I wasn’t exactly lonely during those nights.

“Two nights, then,” the nurse corrects, still unimpressed. “Doesn’t make much difference to a six month old or the person taking care of her.”

I bite back further comment. No one understands the demands of my job, the lifesaving work I do. They see it as an excuse, but they would feel differently if it was their loved one or themselves on my table.

I don’t have time to do this father thing, and I don’t have the bandwidth to learn. So I pay a nanny to care for my daughter. Or at least I did.

“Thanks,” I mutter, though gratitude is far from what I feel. As the nurse walks away, I look down at Addison, her innocence a stark contrast to the complexity of my world. I need to find her a new nanny, one who won’t bail so easily, one who understands that my job is demanding and requires long hours.

Why is dependable childcare so difficult? How dare Anya just quit! Her job is to be there for Addison, all day, every day. I roll my neck to release the tension building.

I look back at Dr. Morgan, and he’s just finishing the final stitches.

“Can you keep an eye on her for a minute while I talk to the family?” I ask the person standing closest to me.

“Yes, doctor,” the tech says.

I hand him the car seat and walk outside to the waiting family. “Good news. He tried to give up, but I wouldn’t let him.”

My patient’s wife sits on a chair and fans herself. “Thank you so much.”

“I’ll be by again tomorrow. He’ll be here a few days, but things are on the right track.”

I answer a few questions and return to Addison, who hasn’t much charmed the tech I left her with. I thank him before picking up the car seat.

“Let’s go to my office,” I tell her softly, hoping the day’s battles are behind me.

The rhythmic beep of monitors from the adjacent recovery bay sounds in my ears as I carry Addison down the hall.

“Joanne, can you watch her for just a moment?” I ask, depositing Addison on my practice manager’s desk as I continue toward mine.

Joanne’s eyes soften. “Of course, Dr. Bradford,” she says with a smile, already reaching in to remove the strap and scoop Addison out of the seat.

I retreat to my desk, dialing the nanny service, a number I know too well. They pick up on the second ring.

“I need a replacement immediately,” I inform the woman sharply. “Anya quit on me without notice.”

There’s a brief pause, a shuffling of papers, a muted sigh. “Dr. Bradford, we’re not certain we can provide someone on such short notice—”

“Your employee has left me without any notice,” I cut in. “We have a contract.”

“Perhaps,” the voice ventures cautiously, “it might be beneficial for you to take some time off to—”

“Impossible,” I interject, my grip tightening around the phone. “Do you understand that I am the top cardiologist in this city? If I step away, lives are at risk. People will actually die.”

“Dr. Bradford—”

“Two days,” I insist, and then I end the call, leaving no room for further discussion.

A soft coo pulls me from my reverie, and I turn to see Joanne approaching, Addison cradled against her shoulder. “I have to head out, Dr. Bradford,” she says apologetically, passing Addison back.

“Right. Thank you, Joanne.” I look down at my daughter, whose bright eyes are fixed on mine. She’s oblivious.

“Do you have someone for her tomorrow? I don’t think Charles Johns is too crazy about having her here.”

I roll my eyes. Dr. Charles Johns is the head of medicine for the hospital—my boss’s boss and a pain in every doctor’s ass. “I’ll find someone.”

“Goodnight.” Joanne waves as she leaves us.

“Addison,” I begin, my voice a whisper as I secure her into the car seat. “You won’t believe how important your daddy is.” She gurgles in response, a bubble of drool forming at the corner of her mouth. I chuckle despite myself. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d understand. But one day you will.”

She smiles, a toothless grin that lights up the room, and kicks her legs in delight.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find someone to hang out with you all day.”

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. Dana’s name pops up, and I hesitate for only a second before tapping the screen. My stepsister works from home and has a lot of flexibility.

She picks up after the third ring, a lot of noise in the background. “Hey, Christian, what’s up?” she asks.

“Hey, I’m in a bind here. Can you take Addison for a couple of days? I’m on call, and the nanny quit,” I confess.

She sighs heavily on the other end. “I can help out for a bit, but Christian, you need something long term. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” I reply, rubbing my forehead. “I’m working on it. Thanks, Dana. I need to be at the hospital tomorrow by five thirty.”

“In the morning?” she screeches.

“Sorry. Medicine is a twenty-four/seven job.”

“Whatever. But seriously, find someone permanent. I have a job, you know.”

“Tomorrow morning at five, and don’t be late.”

She groans. “You’re going to owe me big for this.”

“Whatever. Just be here.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she sneers.

I run through my brain and don’t come up with anything. “I don’t think so.”

“How about a thank you for bailing your ass out again?”

Oh . “Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning, and don’t be late.”

She hangs up, leaving me staring at the phone. She’d understand if my father, the stepfather who raised her, needed my surgical skills. This is all on Anya. Why is everyone upset with me? It’s not my fault.

Shaking off the frustration, I carry Addison down to the locker room. I place her outside the showers so I can see her while I wash off the sweat and the smell that comes from all the antiseptic in a hospital. I emerge refreshed and relaxed, and I quickly dress in casual clothes suitable for the outside world.

Addison gurgles happily as I carry her to my Porsche. I love this car, and I’ll never give it up. I settle Addison into the front passenger side, aware of the eyes on us. I fasten her seatbelt with extra care.

“Dr. Bradford, can she sit in the front seat?” a passing nurses asks, her eyebrows knitting together.

I force a smile, feeling the judgment like a physical blow. “It’s perfectly safe. There is no backseat, and I’ve deactivated the airbags.”

Her gaze softens slightly, but as she walks away, she whispers to another colleague. I ignore them, sliding behind the wheel. Starting the engine, I glance at Addison once more. Her eyelids are heavy. Then I smell her, and I can’t get the car windows down fast enough. Oh gawd. Great. Now, I’ve got that to deal with.

“Let’s go home,” I say, the engine’s purr drowning out the hospital’s whispers as we leave it all behind—for now.

Back at home, I park in the garage, next to the minivan I bought for the nanny but no one has driven. I push open the back door, only to stand aghast at the sight before me. My usually immaculate living room looks as though a cyclone has swept through it—toys scattered like confetti, cushions upturned. I step over a building block and nearly turn my ankle.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, balancing Addison on one arm as I navigate through the debris. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach as I approach the nanny’s room, ready to unleash a torrent of frustration. But I turn the handle and find the room…empty.

The closet doors hang open, gaping voids where there should be clothes. The shelves are bare, photos and personal trinkets gone. The bed is stripped to its mattress, a single piece of paper left behind.

I set Addison down in her seat gently before picking up the note, scanning the words that deliver blow after blow.

I can no longer do this. You are a tyrant. I know you don’t want to admit that Addison is not perfect, but having her in all the classes gives us no free time to do anything, and she hates them. You don’t come home at night, and I’m alone to take care of your daughter. I’m not her mother. I’ve told you many times that I needed a break, as my contract stipulates, but rather than listen, you left me alone for three days straight. I quit. This is what I have to do for myself and my mental health .

My hands tremble slightly, crumpling the edges of the paper. Me? A tyrant? My gaze flickers to Addison, who is oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

“Addison doesn’t hate her classes,” I whisper defensively to the empty room. “And, of course, she’s not perfect, but—”

I cut myself off, forcing my focus back to the letter. The nanny’s plea for a break echoes in my mind, a nagging guilt that I quickly suppress. Why would she need a break? Being a nanny is a privilege. You live in my home rent free, and I feed you on top of a very generous salary. She can read all day. Addison isn’t that demanding. She doesn’t know stress or what it’s like to have one thing go wrong and end someone’s life. Forever.

I move Addison to her room, and with surgical gloves and a mask, I change her diaper and put her in her bed, checking to be sure the monitor is on.

“Her job is being a nanny,” I say aloud. “Addison doesn’t do a lot. Break time is ample.”

I refuse to let the nanny’s departure disrupt our lives. She’s wrong, I know it. The activities, the classes—they’re not just for Addison; they benefit both of them. Structure. Growth. Socialization.

“Isn’t that right, Addie?” I ask, turning to face my daughter, lying peacefully in her crib. “Daddy knows best.”

We’ll be fine. Just another obstacle to overcome. We’ll get a real nanny in here soon. Not some complainer.