A few months ago, I had to hire a nanny for my two kids, very urgently. This is how I met Anna, who turned out to be a real treasure for me and my babies. Last week, I discovered with shock that this highly professional and amazing nanny was actually living in her car.
Let me back up a bit. I’m a single mom of two—Sarah is five, and Max just turned two. Their dad left shortly after Max was born, and I’ve been juggling everything on my own since.
I work as a nurse, which means I do night shifts, rotating weekends, and often get called in at odd hours. I had a few relatives nearby, but they all had their own lives, kids, or health issues. After a childcare emergency one night when Max had a fever and I couldn’t leave the hospital, I knew I couldn’t keep going like this.
So, I put out a last-minute ad on a neighborhood group, desperate for help. That’s when Anna messaged me. She had no fancy profile or glossy photos, but her message was kind, direct, and sincere.
She said she had years of experience, she loved kids, and she could start immediately. That was enough for me. She showed up the next day.
Wearing a loose cardigan, jeans, and her hair tied back, she looked a bit tired, but her smile was warm and calming. Sarah, who’s usually shy, reached for her hand in the first ten minutes. Max, clingy as always, didn’t cry when she picked him up.
That was a first. I hired her on the spot. From that day on, Anna became part of our little world.
She arrived every morning at 6 a.m. sharp, never late. She played with the kids, sang songs, cooked small meals, and even folded laundry without being asked.
But she never talked much about herself. I asked once or twice if she had family nearby. She’d always reply with a soft smile and a vague, “Not really.” I didn’t push.
I figured everyone had their reasons. The weeks flew by, and the house felt lighter with her in it. The kids adored her.
Sarah started drawing pictures of “Mama and Anna and Max.” I found one taped on the fridge with a crooked heart drawn above our heads. I began to feel… stable. For the first time in years.
Then, last week, something happened. It was raining hard, and I had just finished a brutal night shift. I drove past a parking lot near the edge of town—a place where food trucks park during the day but is usually empty at night.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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