That night, I walked in and found Stacy already dressed to leave, her bag in her hand.
She wouldn’t look at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I can’t continue working here.”
No explanation.
No warning.
Just gone.
I told myself it was bad luck.
The agency sent another nanny—Mrs. Nevin. Older, composed, reliable. She worked a full week without issues.
Until the one day she met Liam.
I had asked her to stay longer because of work. When I got home, she was halfway out the door, clearly shaken.
“I’m not the right fit,” she said, her voice tight. “Please don’t contact me again.”
That same night, the agency called.
She had quit.
No reason given.
