Page 4 of Nanny for the Firefighters

The heat of the blaze still clings to my skin, a stubborn reminder of the hell I've just walked out of. Sweat trickles down my spine, cooling in the night air as I drag myself toward the front door of my home. My muscles ache. Every step is a marathon finish, but it's the thought of seeing Lily that puts one foot in front of the other.

I unlock the door, the familiar creak at odds with the chaos of sirens and crackling flames I've left behind. But instead of the quiet sanctuary I hope for, I'm met with the high-pitched wails of my toddler. My heart sinks and soars at the same time—she's here, she's safe, she's… screaming her head off.

Lily's cries pierce through the haze of exhaustion, snapping me back to reality. I toss my fire captain helmet onto the rack—a little too forcefully, maybe—and my boots follow with a thud that echoes through the empty hallway.

"Marcus!" The sharp tone of our nanny, Mrs. Becker, cuts through the air as I step into the living room. She stands there, arms crossed, her face a roadmap of annoyance. Lily is in her arms, red-faced and struggling against the nanny's hold.

I reach out instinctively, my hands already forming the shape of her tiny body. "Hey, what's going on here? Why is she still up?"

Mrs. Becker thrusts Lily into my arms with more gusto than necessary. "Because your daughter refuses to sleep, that's why. And do you know why she won't sleep? Because you spoil her rotten, Marcus McIntyre."

Catching Lily, I pull her close, her little body shuddering with sobs against my chest. "It's okay, princess," I murmur, feeling her tension begin to ease with the familiar rhythm of my heartbeat.

"You missed a scheduled call with Vanessa," Mrs. Becker continues, as if reading from a script of grievances. "She left a rather… colorful voicemail." She nods toward the blinking light on the answering machine, her lips pursed in disapproval.

I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. Vanessa's timing couldn't be worse. "I was putting out a fire, Mrs. Becker. Literally."

"Well…" She huffs, adjusting her glasses with a dramatic flair. "Maybe you should manage your time better. It's not fair to Lily or me."

The criticism stings, a sharp jab to my already bruised ego. I'm doing the best I can here. I start to pace, Lily's head resting against my shoulder, her cries softening into whimpers.

"I understand it's been a rough night," I say, my voice more steady than I feel. "But I can't schedule emergencies. They happen when they happen."

Mrs. Becker snorts, disbelief etched across her face. "Well, emergencies or not, your daughter needs a routine. You men think you can just come and go, and everything will just fall into place. It doesn't work like that with children."

She's not wrong, but her words still ignite a flare of anger in me. I'm walking a tightrope every day, trying to balance being a single dad and a fire captain. I don't need judgment piled on top of exhaustion.

The answering machine beeps, and Vanessa's voice fills the room, shrill and accusing. "Marcus, you missed our call again. What could possibly be more important than your daughter? You're setting a fantastic example of irresponsibility. Lily will know who cared and who was too busy playing hero."

The message ends with a click, but her words hang in the air like smoke. I grit my teeth, the urge to throw something growing. Instead, I focus on the weight of Lily in my arms, her presence a grounding force.

"I'm not playing hero," I murmur, more to myself than to Mrs. Becker. "I'm doing my job."

Mrs. Becker sighs, her expression softening a bit as she watches me with Lily. "I know you think you're doing your best, Marcus. But maybe your best isn't good enough right now."

That hurts. More than it should. Maybe because it's true. I glance down at Lily, her big blue eyes wet with tears but calm now, watching me with a trust that feels underserved. "I'm trying, Lily," I whisper. "Daddy's really trying."

The room is silent, save for the soft cooing of my daughter. Mrs. Becker clears her throat, her earlier harshness replaced by a reluctant empathy. "I'll put on some tea," she mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

As the sound of the kettle fills the space between us, I sit down with Lily, holding her close. The fight has drained out of me, replaced by a weary resolve.

Maybe Mrs. Becker is right. Maybe I need to do better. But how? I'm only one man, and I'm already stretched so thin, I'm transparent. For Lily, though, I'll find a way. I have to.

The sound of the kettle whistles in the background, a high-pitched soundtrack to the tense atmosphere lingering in the room. Mrs. Becker returns, placing two steaming mugs on the table, her movements stiff and deliberate. I shift Lily on my hip, trying to bridge the silence.

"Mrs. Becker, I appreciate everything you've done for us," I start, my voice low and earnest. "I'm sorry tonight was rough."

She waves a dismissive hand, her features tightening. "Marcus, I've been doing this for thirty years. I know when a situation is more than I bargained for."

I can hear the resignation in her voice, a prelude to the bomb she's about to drop. My stomach tightens in anticipation.

"And?" I prompt, already dreading the answer.

"And…" She sighs heavily. "I think it's best if tonight is my last night. I can't keep up with this schedule of yours, and frankly, Lily needs more stability than you can offer right now."

Her words hit like a sucker punch. "You're qu–quitting?" I stammer, the reality of the situation dawning on me. No backup, no family nearby, just me and my little girl and a job that could call at any hour.

"Yes, Marcus. I am." Mrs. Becker's tone softens, but her decision is irrevocable. "You need someone who can be here with her, especially at night."