Page 57 of Nanny for the Firefighters

There's a pause, and I half expect her to refuse. But then she says, "Fine. Meet me at La Belle Époque, downtown, Thursday, for breakfast."

"Thank you," I reply, but she's already hung up. I stare at the phone, my heart pounding. Thursday. That's the day after tomorrow.

Very early the next morning, I quickly arrange for a doctor's appointment, needing to figure out what's wrong with me. The receptionist slots me in for that day, and I'm grateful for the quick turnaround.

I dress quickly, my movements hurried and anxious. Marcus is still asleep, his breathing steady and calm, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. I leave a note on the kitchen counter, scribbling a quick Out Running Errands and hoping it will suffice. The drive to the doctor's office is a blur, my mind occupied with thoughts of what could be wrong. The cityscape rushes past in a smear of gray and muted colors, the morning sun just beginning to pierce through the overcast sky.

Dr. Foster's office rests within a small brick structure with a simple sign above the door. The waiting room is a functional little space decorated with potted plants and soft pastel colors. I inhale the scent of lavender, probably from one of the numerous diffusers scattered around.

I check in at the reception desk. The receptionist, a woman with a kind face who could be anywhere between forty and fifty years old, offers me a warm, almost motherly smile.

Particulars finished, I sit down, my fingers tapping nervously on the armrest of the chair. Around me, other patients sit quietly, flipping through outdated magazines or staring blankly at the muted television mounted on the wall.

My eyes flit around the room, trying to find something, anything, to focus on.

A large fern sits in the corner, its fronds gently swaying under the breeze of a nearby vent. Next to it, a row of cheerful daisies in ceramic pots adds a splash of color to the room. The ambiance is designed to be calming, so ten points for effort. I pick up a magazine, pretending to read, but the words blur together meaninglessly.

Finally, the nurse calls my name, and I follow her down a narrow hallway to an examination room. The walls are lined with medical charts and anatomical posters, each one a reminder of the countless ailments that could be plaguing me. I sit on the examination table, the paper cover crinkling beneath me, and wait for Dr. Foster.

He enters a few minutes later, a kind-eyed man with a gentle demeanor. "Good morning, Ella," he says, taking a seat on the stool beside the table. "What seems to be the problem today?"

I take a deep breath, recounting my symptoms—the nausea, the dizziness, the general sense of malaise. He listens patiently, nodding thoughtfully as I speak.

"Have you been under any unusual stress lately?" he asks, his brow furrowed with concern.

I hesitate, wondering what he'd say if he knew about my life. "You could say that," I reply carefully. "But this feels different, more physical."

Dr. Foster nods again, making notes on his clipboard. "We'll need to do a blood test to get to the bottom of this," he says finally, looking up at me with reassuring eyes. "It could be something as simple as a vitamin deficiency, or it could be something that requires more attention. Either way, we'll find out."

I nod, my anxiety spiking as the nurse enters the room with a tray of vials and needles. She's efficient and gentle, her practiced hands finding a vein with ease. The prick of the needle barely registers through my swirling thoughts. I watch as the vial fills with my blood, the dark red liquid a stark contrast to the sterile white surroundings.

"There we go," the nurse says, placing a small bandage over the puncture site. "We should have the results in a few days. In the meantime, try to rest and take care of yourself."

I thank them both and leave the clinic, my mind a thousand miles away. The drive back to the manor is just as blurry as the drive there, my thoughts consumed with worry. What if it's something serious? What if I'm not around to protect my family? The questions swirl in my mind, relentless and unforgiving.

Back at the manor, I try to focus on my duties. Lily is a bright spot in my day, her laughter and endless energy a welcome distraction. We play in the garden, her little hands grasping mine as we run through the flowers.

"Ella, look!" she squeals, pointing to a butterfly that flits nearby. Her excitement is contagious, and I smile, trying to push aside my worries.

But as the afternoon wears on, the nausea returns. I swallow hard, trying to keep it at bay. Lily tugs on my hand, her eyes wide with concern. "Ella, okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart," I say, forcing a smile. "Just a little tired."

We sit down on a bench, and she cuddles up next to me, her small body warm against mine. "I love you, Ella," she whispers, and my heart aches with affection.

"I love you too, Lily," I whisper back, kissing the top of her head.

Marcus finds us like that, his eyes widening when he sees me pale and shaky. "Ella, what's wrong?" he demands, his voice laced with panic.

"I'm fine," I insist, standing up too quickly. The world tilts, and I grip the back of the bench to steady myself. "I just need a timeout."

Marcus's worry is palpable, but once again, he knows the beginning and end of his boundaries. God, I love him for it.

"Go rest," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'll take care of Lily."

I nod, giving Lily one last hug before heading inside. I need to get out of here, to clear my head and focus on my next move. Once in my room, I pull out my phone and text Theo.

Where are you? I type, my fingers trembling.