“I tried burping her.”
“Teething?”
“She’s only four months.”
Gloria nods but steps back quickly when Ava lets out another shriek. The sound shoots through your ribs like panic with a voice. You can practically hear what everyone is thinking. New girl. Too messy. Bad judgment. Not worth the trouble.
You do not blame them.
You blame the universe that picked today.
You had begged the supervisor that morning for permission to bring Ava just once. Your regular sitter, Miss Irene from downstairs in your building, had woken up feverish and apologetic. You had no family nearby, no backup, no safety net. This job at the King estate paid more in one week than two of your old hotel shifts combined. Missing a day so early would make you look unreliable. Missing several might get you replaced.
Mrs. Benton, the house supervisor, had pressed her lips together, looked at the baby carrier on your arm, and sighed.
“One day,” she’d said. “Keep her out of sight. If Mr. King is home, make sure there is no disruption.”
You had nodded too fast, gratitude and dread tangling together.
