I lay in the sterile hospital bed after surgery, my body a patchwork of stitches and bruises. My mind, however, was sharper than ever. The betrayal from my family cut deeper than any surgical implement could, and I knew I had to sever ties for my own sanity and that of my children. I had always been the one to bail them out, to spread myself thin to ensure their comfort—and now, I was done.
As the pain medication ebbed, I dialed the agency from my hospital bed and arranged for a nanny. I had never felt more alone, yet strangely liberated. The twins were safe with a capable professional, someone who showed up when I needed them, a stark contrast to those who should have been there.
Two weeks passed, each day a step toward healing and reclaiming my life. Lily and Lucas adapted well to the nanny, who was a sweet woman named Janice. She was nurturing and attentive, giving me the peace of mind I desperately needed.
