“I’m very sorry,” she said quietly, her eyes on the floor.
“But I have personal circumstances and won’t be able to continue working for you.”
That was all she gave me.
There was no explanation, no warning… just a quiet apology and a polite exit.
Next, the agency sent Mrs. Whitmore.
She was a kind woman in her 50s who greeted me with a firm handshake and a calm smile.
She left every evening at 6 p.m., and Nathan typically didn’t walk in until around 9 p.m.
When I texted her one afternoon asking her to stay a bit longer because of an urgent call at the office, I came home to find her halfway out the door, a flustered look on her face.
“I’m not the right fit, Violet,” Mrs. Whitmore said, pulling her coat around her. “Please don’t call me again.”
Her voice trembled as though she was carrying an invisible burden.
That night the agency called.
She had quit without warning.
“It was unexpected, ma’am,” a woman from the agency said. “She didn’t exactly give a reason. But we’ll send someone else over.”
When Diana walked through my front door a few days later, the girls greeted her with crayons and stickers like every caretaker before.
She was cheerful and competent.
She cleaned up spills without being asked and had Emma laughing within minutes.
But like the others, she left after meeting Nathan for the first time.
When three nannies quit in a row after meeting my husband, I no longer chalked it up to coincidence.
That night, Lily said something that sat heavy in my mind.
“Daddy told Diana that you were tired,” she said at bedtime, her voice full of innocence. “He said you don’t understand your job.”
I paused mid-kiss on her forehead.
“Say it again?” I asked softly.
Lily tilted her head, trying to remember.
“He said Mommy didn’t understand how to work with people.”
“Why would he say that?” I murmured, mostly to myself.
I was confused — my daughter was five years old.
It was possible that she was confused or mistaken, but even then…
I knew something was wrong.
The next morning, I sat at the kitchen table, coffee untouched, planner open. I wasn’t looking at either. My own reflection stared back from the window — dark circles under my eyes, jaw tight.
I whispered the question I hadn’t been able to shake.
I’d asked Nathan and the agency.
I’d asked the nannies — well, tried to. And every time, I was met with the same vague apologies.
I picked up my phone.
“This isn’t spying,” I said quietly. “This is protecting them.”
I opened the shopping app.
When the box arrived two days later, I waited until the girls were asleep and Nathan was snoring on the couch to open it.
I told myself this wasn’t spying — it was protecting my girls.
By Monday night, I had everything set up: living room, hallway, and kitchen. I tested the feed three times.
I wasn’t going to be in the dark again.
Sophie arrived on Tuesday morning. She had a calm warmth about her — buttoned-up cardigan, gentle voice, and a box of crayons she’d brought just for the girls.
“These are for sharing,” she told them with a wink.
“But only if you promise not to draw on the walls.”
Lily giggled. Emma offered her a gummy bear, which in our house meant acceptance.
I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks — hope.
“You’ve got them?” I asked, grabbing my bag.
“I’ve got them, Violet,” Sophie assured me.
I was in the middle of a conference call when I checked the camera feed. Nathan was home. I muted myself and turned the volume on my phone all the way up.
Sophie was sitting on the couch with the girls, reading a story about caterpillars turning into butterflies.
That’s when Nathan walked in.
My husband greeted her with a soft cough and that same polished calm he always carried.
Sophie responded warmly.
“I was just telling them about colors in the garden, and how they change as the seasons do,” she said.
“That’s wonderful,” Nathan replied gently. “You’re doing a lovely job.”
He paused and looked toward the camera, unaware I was watching.
“I wanted to talk about something,” he said. “Violet said that you were a good fit for us.
And your time with the girls is clearly helpful, I mean, look how engaged they are. But I believe this family needs something slightly different.”
Sophie sat up a little straighter.
“I’m here to help in whatever way you need,” she said carefully.
Nathan smiled in that way he always used with me in the early years of our marriage.
“My wife gets ambitious,” he said. “But the girls need their mother.
They need a parent who is present, not someone who is here one moment and gone the next.”
Sophie blinked.
“Violet told me she loves her job,” Sophie said gently. “That’s why I’m here. So she can be happy, and the girls can be cared for.”
“Happy doesn’t always mean right,” Nathan replied. “Supporting this family means knowing when to pull back.
The girls deserve consistency, and if you truly care about them…”
He paused, almost smiling.
“Then maybe you’ll let their mother take the lead. Sophie, if you care about my girls, step away.”
My breath caught.
“You’re doing this on purpose. You’ve been using them to corner me,” I whispered to the empty office.
I left work immediately.
When I pulled into the driveway, Sophie was standing on the porch with her bag over her shoulder.
The moment she saw me, she walked down the steps to meet me halfway.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “But I can’t keep quiet about this.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Did he say or do something to you?”
“Your husband, Violet…
he didn’t yell. He didn’t insult you. But it was like…
like he was rewriting your whole life behind your back..”
I held the door open, and she stepped past me, still holding her bag like a shield.
“He said the girls need their mother. And that you’re overwhelmed. He said that working was a phase,” she continued.
“He made it sound like staying was hurting them.”
I sighed deeply.
“I know, Sophie,” I said. “I should have told you this, but I installed security cameras. I overheard the entire conversation.
I’ll show you where they are. I just needed to know… more.”
She nodded slowly.
I walked into the kitchen, pulled out my phone, and tapped the agency contact.
When the director picked up, I put the call on speaker.
“Stevie, I need you to listen to me,” I said. “And I need you to help me hold Nathan accountable.”
My husband was in the living room, flipping through a work folder when I walked in. He looked up when I entered.
“We need to talk,” I said calmly.
“Now.”
Stevie’s voice rang clear through the speaker.
“We’ve received some concerning feedback, sir. Can you explain the pattern of nanny departures? Usually, after three failed placements, we have no choice but to look at the family.
And ensure the safety of our staff and the family’s children.”
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Nathan said, chuckling softly.
I walked to the media console, opened the app, and tapped play on the saved clip. Sophie stood beside me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
The room filled with a recording of Nathan’s voice.
Stevie’s tone hardened.
“That’s unacceptable. I’m filing an incident report.
No agency placements will enter this home unless Violet is present.”
Just then, his mother appeared in the doorway. She usually stopped by in the afternoons to spend time with the girls. She froze, then looked at him like she didn’t recognize him.
“I heard everything.
In my house, we don’t corner women with guilt and call it leadership,” she said. “You embarrassed your wife — and used your daughters like props.”
“Tell everyone why they all quit,” I said.
He hesitated.
“That wasn’t protection,” I said. “Ever since I returned to work, you scheduled meetings during nanny hours, invented emergencies, and spoke to them in a way that made them question their role, their place, and themselves — and you did it all with a polite voice.”
His mother didn’t speak.
Consequences came fast.
In front of Sophie and his mother, Nathan apologized without excuses.
Sophie’s contract was rewritten: no private conversations with him — ever.
Then I pointed to the hallway. “Pack a bag, Nathan.”
That night, Lily found me folding pajamas.
“Mommy… are you going to leave again?”
I pulled her close.
“No, baby. I’m right here.
Working doesn’t mean I’m gone forever.”
Emma waddled in with her rainbow drawing.
“Us,” she said, pointing to the three figures standing on a rainbow.
“Us,” I repeated.
Later, as I loaded the dishwasher and listened to my girls giggle down the hall, I knew that Nathan moving out was for the best.
He didn’t need the nannies to leave — he needed me to doubt who I was. But I’m still standing. And I’m not leaving my daughters, or myself, behind.
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