Chapter 7

Hailey

The rarely broken silence serves as a constant reminder of Christian’s ghostly presence in our lives. My first month with Addison is quickly passing, yet, he remains an elusive shadow that flits through the edges of our days. He eats the dinner I leave behind, though not at any regular dinner hour, and I think he reads my notes, but he’s gone when we get up. When he’s not on call, his whispers and gentle songs to Addison during her two o’clock feedings weave through the baby monitor, a nocturnal lullaby that tells me he’s been home. It’s strange, feeling both connected and disconnected from him at the same time.

He did leave me an employment contract to sign today, though. I guess that means my trial period is over. I flip through, but there isn’t much to it. I live here, my hours are Addison’s hours—whatever that means—and other duties include light housekeeping. Time off needs to be arranged in advance with him, and he’ll pay me quite a generous sum as long as I give him my direct deposit information. I do some quick math in my head, and I shouldn’t have any problems digging out of debt and affording Europe in a year. I guess that means I should sign.

I do so with a flourish, and then head up to check on Addison during her nap. She has plenty of time for that these days. Dropping most of her activities was a choice made of necessity, and I have no regrets. She still has a packed schedule of occupational, and physical therapy sessions, each twice weekly, not to mention her regular heart doctor and pediatrician appointments. Those fill our calendar with plenty of structure and purpose. I’ll need to get her up soon so she can sleep tonight.

There’s a knock at the door, and I rise to answer it. Dana’s on the other side, holding a bag from Harvest Deli.

“Hi!” She steps into the warmth of Christian’s living room. “Brought your favorite for dinner, a turkey club with extra pickles.”

“You’re a godsend,” I reply with a grin, relieved to have both company and comfort food.

Addison fusses, so we walk back to get her from her crib and change her while Dana launches into a tale about her latest dating escapade.

“So, this guy—tall, dark, definitely handsome—he does this double-take as he walks past me, right? Comes back, follows me into the Steaming Mugs on Commercial,” Dana explains, her hands animated as she speaks.

We return to the kitchen, and after we get Addison set up with a mobile she enjoys, we settle at the kitchen table and unpack the sandwiches.

I take a bite of mine. “And?”

“And he’s Greek, works in banking. But get this, his only interest? Well, you know…” She rolls her eyes.

Sex . “Really?” I probe, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. “Did he expect you to say, ‘Let’s go back to my place’?”

She chuckles. “I was flattered, but there was something off.”

“Like maybe he was married?”

“Claimed he was single.” Dana shrugs and sighs dramatically. “But all he could talk about was what he wanted to do to me in bed. I started having second thoughts, made an excuse, and left.”

“Smart move leaving him there,” I say with a nod.

“Trust me, it wasn’t worth the drama.” Dana takes a sip of her iced tea, and we share a knowing look. We’ve both had more than our fair share of drama lately.

“Thanks for bringing dinner,” I tell her.

“Anytime. When Christian gives you a day off, let’s do something fun, just the two of us.” Dana smiles.

I nod, as that sounds wonderful, but I realize Christian and I haven’t talked about days off. I don’t know how that works, but I’ll need one soon for my move. I don’t really have a backup, though, and I don’t want to ask Dana to help. It’s embarrassing to be such a mess, and she’s already found me a job and a place to live.

I crumple the sandwich wrapper, tossing it into the bin before turning back to Dana. Her eyebrows arch in question, and I know what’s coming next.

“Have you heard from Franklin lately?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No, and to be honest, I don’t miss him.” The words feel liberating.

“Good for you,” Dana says, her approval clear. “I saw on Facebook he’s shacked up with some new girl.”

“Really?” I feign surprise, though I’ve also been tracking his movements online—masochism in digital form.

“Yep. Looks like a messy situation. He still doesn’t have a job, and she’s constantly posting about needing ‘a man who can step up.’” Dana’s lips twist into a wry smile.

“Sounds familiar,” I mutter, thinking back to all the promises Franklin made, none of which he kept. “He always talked big but never followed through.”

“His ambition couldn’t fill a thimble.” Dana stands, collecting her trash. We laugh, but it feels hollow, tinged with the bitterness of wasted time.

I feel rejuvenated now that I’ve spent some time with someone who speaks in return, but Dana can’t stay forever. She has an early morning tomorrow, and I’ve got to get this kid to bed.

She waves goodbye, and as the door closes behind her, it’s as if she took my energy with her. Addison is wonderful, but her constant care with no backup or breaks is a lot. Sometimes, it hits me all at once.

I force my feet to move through Addison’s bedtime and bath routine, but once she’s asleep again, I stare at the pile of laundry, knowing I should fold it, but my limbs feel like lead. “I’ll do it later,” I mutter, letting myself sink into the couch.

Later never comes. I close my eyes for just a second, but then the baby monitor crackles to life, jolting me awake. Christian’s whispers drift through it, a lullaby for Addison. He’s home. He’s always here when it’s too late to matter.

Over the last few days, I’ve spent a few hours each afternoon at my old place, packing up my things and preparing to move this weekend. Addison happily watches from her car seat or lying on a blanket close by. My old apartment feels empty and musty without someone living in it. I look around and inhale deeply, and there it is—the faintest trace of Franklin’s cologne lingering in the air. That ghost of a scent transports me back to better days, though that was a long time ago.

I’ve been transferring my life to my new home, one or two boxes at a time. I’m supposed to be moved out and have everything here cleaned by the end of this weekend. Franklin hasn’t called or shown any sign he intends to return. I’ve reached out to him a few times, but each unreturned call is a brick added to the wall I’m building around my heart.

“Shouldn’t have expected anything different,” I whisper as I pack another kitchen box. It’s easier this way. Every item I move out takes me one step farther from him.

“Let’s go home, Addie,” I say once the box is full. How could he just walk away from everything and move in with someone else?

The answer is simple: Franklin used me. And it took me too long to stand up for myself. I can’t let anyone do that to me again. I’ve read about love bombing—a man showers you with love and affection and you fall hard for him, and he gets what he wants and moves on to the next woman. I’m not proud of what happened, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it, but I won’t allow that to define me.

I secure Addie in her car seat and close the last of the cardboard boxes, the tape dispenser making a satisfying screech as it seals my past inside. I’m moving everything but my clothes and a few items into storage, but I need help getting the bigger items there. My old neighbor, Ray James, stopped by earlier with my mail and offered to help me with the furniture this weekend—thank goodness. By Monday, strangers will start their story where mine ended.

I glance around the almost-empty apartment. So much still to do.

“Need a hand with that?” Ray’s voice floats in from the hallway.

“Hey, Ray,” I greet him with a smile. “Yeah, thanks. It’s just these last few boxes. I should be ready to move all that’s left on Saturday.” My grandmother’s china cabinet stands against the far wall. That’s going to be the hardest to move.

“I’ve cleared my calendar for you,” he says, a bit too eagerly. His crush is obvious, but he’s a good guy, and right now, I need all the help I can get.

“Thank you so much, Ray,” I say as we load the last box. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Always happy to help,” he replies, his gaze lingering. “I should get your new address for any of your mail that winds up here after you’re gone.”

“Sure.” I grab an old receipt in my purse and write it down for him. We don’t know why the postal worker often puts my mail in his box, but Ray’s always been kind about it.

I load Addison into the car and wave goodbye. We stop to drop the boxes in my storage unit and return to the townhouse with enough time to feed Addison and put her down before Dana stops by with dinner.

My stomach grumbles in anticipation. Today, she’s bringing bento boxes with sushi and chicken teriyaki.

I get Addison down just as I see her pull up.

“That smells so good,” I announce as I open the door. The sweet tang of teriyaki sauce fills the air.

We head for the kitchen, and she pushes a plastic bento box over to me.

“Oh!” I remember as we eat. “Thank you for the loan.” I e-transfer the money she lent me back to her as we sit at the kitchen counter, munching on dinner. “One year, and I should have enough saved to travel Europe. Can’t wait to bum around with you.”

“That was fast,” Dana replies. “And how’s work going? You’ve been at it almost a month now.”

“Addison is great,” I tell her, savoring a bite of California roll. “Nannying is a lot of work, but it pays the bills, and it’s building my escape fund, so I can’t complain. What about you?”

“Work is fine,” Dana begins, her tone shifting, “Tate’s ex-wife… She’s a piece of work. Makes his life hell, poor guy. He’s started sharing things with me. He hasn’t really gone out since she left. She was so sure he was dating someone.”

“Wow. Tate’s telling you about his divorce?” I ask.

Dana nods, her expression clouded for a moment. “I don’t want to talk about Tate. I’ll get mad at his ex-wife. Let’s focus on our Europe trip. We’ll make it epic.”

“Definitely,” I agree. “I’ve started a list of things I want to do and see.”

“Oh, me too.”

We talk for a while about Paris and London and riding the Eurostar.

Eventually, I push a stray lock of hair behind my ear and lean back against the cool kitchen counter, watching Dana’s face soften with concern. “Are you okay?” she asks, closing the lid on her salad container.

I don’t want to sound ungrateful to the person who has helped me pull my life together. But sometimes, it’s hard. “I think things are going fine, but Christian is practically a ghost. It often feels like it’s just me and Addison here. If he hadn’t left a credit card for me to use for food and baby supplies, and if he didn’t eat the food I leave for him, I’d never know he came home. I mean, he clearly loves Addison, but serenading her with lullabies at two in the morning while changing diapers can’t be enough daddy-daughter time.”

A tiny wrinkle forms between her brows. “Dad says he’s struggling with the Addison surprise.”

“I can only imagine.” I sigh, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “He’s not on call this weekend, and he’s supposed to be home. I need him here so I can move. I’ve plastered the house with notes, drowned his inbox with emails, made sure Joanne put it on his schedule, and my texts must be creating a digital pileup on his phone.” I force myself to laugh.

It’s not the lack of sleep that’s getting me. It’s the emptiness of doing it all alone. Christian floats in and out, leaving nothing behind but dirty dishes. I don’t mind taking care of Addison—she’s the only thing grounding me—but the loneliness is ever-present. And the interactions at her appointments don’t make a difference. I’m not Addison’s mother; I’m the nanny. Each time I hear Christian’s car pulling away before I’ve even had the chance to talk to him, my resentment rises a little higher. Is this what my life has become? A series of endless days watching someone’s daughter? I need a break now and then, but I have no idea how to get that.

Dana chuckles, shaking her head as she collects her things. “At this rate, I’d better keep my weekend open. You know, just in case you need help with Addison when Christian pulls another Houdini.”

“Wouldn’t dream of bothering you with this,” I reply with a forced grin, though I fear I might have to take her up on the offer.

We stand, and our hug is brief but tight, a silent exchange of strength. Dana steps back, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You’re looking better, Hailey. I know what Franklin did was awful, but you’re excelling at this.”

“Thanks, Dana.” I feel a little warmth seep into my cheeks.

“Stay strong,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads for the door, leaving me alone in the silent townhouse.

For a moment, I let myself indulge in the quiet, imagining a different kind of weekend, one that doesn’t hang by the precarious thread of someone else’s whims. Then I square my shoulders and turn toward Addison’s bedroom. When I check on her, she’s sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of any turmoil. My heart swells with determination. I can do this.

The house alarm beeps when the back door opens in the dead of night, rousing me from restless sleep. I listen, half-dreaming. Christian is home. I can feel it. My eyes open, and for a moment, I consider getting up to remind him about tomorrow—or maybe it’s today by now. But I don’t want to nag. He knows. I’m relieved he’s home as exhaustion pins me to the bed, and I drift back to sleep.

Next thing I know, morning light spills across my face—too bright, too harsh. Addison is fussing, and I don’t hear Christian. My alarm clock’s red digits mock me. Panic needles at my chest. Where is he? I scramble out of bed, heart pounding, and rush to Addison’s room. She smiles when she sees me.

I check every room—empty. His car is gone. He didn’t stay. Again . My mind races with theories about where he could be as I dial his number with shaking fingers. Wind whips at the phone as he answers, and his voice, casual and distant, floats through the receiver.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.

“When are you coming home?” My words are clipped with urgency.

There’s a pause, filled with the sounds of water and laughter in the background. “I’m on my sailboat, heading to Victoria with some friends. Why?”

“Because I need to move out of my old apartment today,” I say, clenching the phone. “Addison needs you to watch her.”

“You should have told me.” His tone is flat, dismissive.

A bitter laugh escapes me. “I did tell you. I’ve texted, left notes, Joanne put it on your calendar and sent emails… How do you not know this?” Frustration scorches my throat, each word tinged with disbelief.

“Look, I must’ve missed them. Call Dana or something,” he counters, seeming unbothered by my growing desperation.

“Christian, I—”

“Sorry, I gotta go. We’re docking soon. Talk later.” The call ends with a click.

Is he kidding me? I haven’t asked for any time off, and I work essentially all day every day. I stand there, phone still pressed to my ear, the surrounding silence suddenly suffocating. I want to scream, to release this mounting pressure inside me, but I swallow it. Addison doesn’t need to see me like this.

Christian let me down, just like Franklin and every man before him. I can’t expect anyone to come through for me. I should know better by now.

“Great,” I mutter to the empty room. “Just great.”

Taking a deep breath, I gather what little composure I have left and dial Dana’s number. She picks up after a few rings.

“Hey, Dana, it’s me,” I say, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. “I—I need your help with Addison today.”

“I knew he’d do this,” she replies without missing a beat. “I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, fighting back tears.

As I end the call, I glance at Addison, peacefully drinking her bottle. She’s the reason I stay.

Dana’s car pulls up just as I finish strapping Addison into her swing. I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Hey, Dana,” I call as she steps inside. “Everything you need is on the counter.” I motion to the neatly arranged baby supplies.

“Go, Hailey. Don’t worry about us,” Dana insists, her eyes soft but firm. “But I have to meet Tate at three, and I can’t take Addison with me.”

I nod. I don’t have all day to get this done. “I’ll be back.” I slip out the door, feeling the weight of responsibility momentarily lifted from my shoulders. I make all the green lights as I drive the minivan over to my old building.

Ray spots me as I approach, already waiting. “Are you ready?” he asks as I exit the car.

“I hope so,” I manage, my voice tight. We work in silence, an assembly line of furniture and memories boxed and bagged, each stashed into the vehicle until there’s no more room. Sweat beads along my forehead.

“Storage unit next?” Ray queries, closing the door with a thud.

“Yes. I really appreciate this.”

“Happy to help.”

The drive to the storage unit is a blur, my thoughts a cyclone of anger and desperation. It takes four trips to deposit my past into the dimly lit space, piles of history haphazardly stacked against cold metal walls. The unit is a disaster, but I don’t have time to straighten it. I’ll have to come back later.

“Thank you, Ray. I couldn’t have done this without you. I owe you drinks and dinner. Let me know when you’re available,” I tell him as I drop him back off at my old building. Though it occurs to me that I have no idea when I’m available.

“Great. I look forward to that.”

We wave goodbye, and I drive as fast as I can back to the townhouse, screeching into the garage just after two thirty.

Dana greets me at the door with Addison cooing in her arms. “She was perfect,” she says, but her eyes stray to the clock, and I can tell she’s itching to leave.

“Thank you,” I say, settling Addison’s warm weight into the crook of my arm.

Dana slips away with a wave, leaving me alone again, and my anger resurfaces. It’s all directed at Christian.

My apartment still needs cleaning. But I can’t do it all, not with Addison needing me, not with my energy sapped by anger and betrayal. I pull out Christian’s credit card, and with a few taps on my phone, the cleaning service is booked—a petty victory, perhaps, but a necessary one.

“Sorry,” I whisper, even though I’m not. Not really. He should be here, helping, being a father. Instead, he’s sailing away from his responsibilities.

I sit down heavily on the couch, Addison nestled against me. I stroke her cheek, vowing silently to keep her world steady, even as mine threatens to spin off its axis.

The garage door creaks open, and the security system alert sounds. Christian strides in, casual, as if it’s just another Sunday evening, not the tail end of a weekend that’s left me frayed and frantic.

“Finally,” I exhale, the word heavy with exhaustion.

“Hey,” he says, his glance across the room fleeting. “Sorry, got caught up.”

I look down at myself—spit-up stains on my shoulder, sweet potato smeared into my hair. I just finally got Addison down. “Caught up?” My voice cracks, but I keep it low, mindful of the baby who has only recently gotten to sleep. “Did you even see the notes I left? The texts?”

“Oh, those,” he mutters, scratching his head as if trying to dredge up a minor detail from the depths of his memory. “Yeah, saw something about that.”

“Something?” I gesture toward the fridge, where a bright yellow sticky note waits, then to the counter where his empty plate from Friday night still sits—crumbs and all. “I said I needed you here this weekend.”

“Right.” He doesn’t meet my eyes, just shuffles his feet and shrugs. “Looks like you managed, though.”

“Managed?” A brittle laugh escapes me. “I used your credit card to pay for cleaners at my apartment because I couldn’t do it myself.”

“Fine by me.” Another shrug. “Anyway, looks like you could use a break. You can have tonight off.”

“Off?” I echo, incredulous. The digital clock on the microwave confirms it’s past nine. “Offering me ‘time off’ when there’s nowhere I can go, nothing I can do—that’s not…” Generosity? Thoughtfulness? Legal? a small voice chimes in. It’s none of those things, and a part of me wants to scream at him.

“Never mind,” I say, tamping down the anger. I need to keep working here. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he replies, seemingly oblivious to the sarcasm in my gratitude. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

And just like that, he’s gone again, leaving me wondering how much longer I can keep doing this, how much longer I can balance on this razor’s edge without falling off.

I head for my bathroom and peel off my dirty clothes with the kind of carelessness that comes from sheer exhaustion, dropping them into a neglected corner. The tub beckons, and with a few twists of the taps, steam begins to rise.

I sink into the bath, hot water enveloping me, seeping into my pores, untying the knots of stress. My mind wanders. It’s been months since Franklin’s touch, months since I’ve allowed myself the luxury of acknowledging desire.

But tonight, the quiet of the house and a fatigue that’s both physical and emotional strips away the layers of my resolve. I close my eyes, letting the memories surface, memories of closeness, of shared breaths, I suppose of Franklin, though that doesn’t seem quite right. I don’t miss him or want him. Not really. A sigh escapes my lips, unwilled and unchecked.

Still, my hand moves almost of its own accord, fingers trailing along the water’s edge, over the softness of my skin. Soon, I’m all worked up, a knot of longing in my belly, an ache that’s gone ignored for too long. There’s that drawer, just within reach, where I keep a small, discreet vibrator.

I hesitate, but only for a heartbeat. Then I lean over the edge of the tub, water lapping against my skin as I retrieve the waterproof vibe. It’s cool to the touch at first but quickly warms in my hand. The faint buzz, once activated, is a promise whispered against my flesh.

I give myself over to sensation, to the humming vibration that seeks out the core of my need. It’s a floodgate opening, and I arch into the touch. For these precious moments, there’s nothing else—no dirty diapers, no strained conversations, no unanswered messages. Just me, the water, and my little friend.

The last vestiges of tension melt away as the vibrations and my fingers work hard to find my release. I’m angry with Christian, but suddenly, my mind wanders to him and his bare chest. Only he’s not the aloof man I know. This is my fantasy, so he can be anything I want. I think of his hard pecs and imagine he’s here with me, pushing me closer and closer to the cliff’s edge. I close my eyes, carried away by the sensations, by the wave building inside me. My breath quickens, the thrum of the device building pleasure deep inside me. And then, with a gasp that echoes off the tiled walls, I let go.