Nine months ago, I took a job nannying for a surgeon and told myself it was just work.

I told myself that even after his brother Eli pulled me into the hospital stairwell.

His hand sliding around the back of my neck. His mouth finding mine slow and deliberate — like he'd been thinking about it for months.

I kissed him back. I knew I shouldn't have. But I kissed him back anyway.

I never told anyone. Not a single coworker. Not my best friend. Because I knew what it would cost me — the job, the little girl I'd grown to love, all of it.

So I kept showing up. Kept making Sophie's lunches and braiding her hair and pretending everything was fine.

Then one night I woke to screaming.

For a moment I didn't know where I was — heart pounding, darkness everywhere, that sound cutting through the silence.

Sophie.

I threw off the covers and ran down the hall. She was sitting up in bed, crying, shaking, her arms already reaching for me.

"I'm here. I'm here."

I pulled her into my lap and she buried her face in my neck and sobbed — deep, shuddering sobs that shook her whole small body.

"I had a scary dream," she gasped. "Mommy, I had a scary dream. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me, Mommy."

My chest cracked open.

I held her tighter. Rocked her. Smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead.

"Shh. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

She clung to me until her breathing slowed, until sleep pulled her back under, until she was soft and heavy in my arms.

I didn't correct her.

I should have. I knew I should have. But she was scared and small and holding onto me like I was the only solid thing in her world, and I couldn't make myself say I'm not your mommy.

When I looked up, Nathan was standing in the doorway.

My heart stopped.

"How long have you been standing there?" I whispered.

His jaw tightened. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

"I heard everything."

After that night, something shifted. He lingered at breakfast. Poured my coffee before I could reach for it. His hand would find the small of my back as he passed me in the kitchen — light, brief, like he wasn't even thinking about it.

I kept telling myself it didn't mean anything.

Until the night of the hospital gala, when he got down on one knee in front of five hundred people, ring box open, eyes full of something certain and real.

And his brother, Eli, was standing right behind him.

Jaw tight. Eyes locked on mine. Slowly shaking his head.

Say no.

I couldn't speak. My throat closed. My hands were shaking at my sides.

Then I saw him move.

Eli stepped forward through the crowd, put himself between me and Nathan, and said,

"Put that ring away. She's mine."