Page 3 of Nanny for the SEAL

“Are you okay?”

“That was loud. Laura was yelling.”

Frowning, I smooth my hand down Daisy’s cheek. “I know, babe. I’m sorry about that. Daddy was mad about something, and Laura was making a bad choice.”

Daisy’s little brow furrows as she considers what that means. “Was she naughty? Did you have to send her to time out?”

Smiling only because I wish life was as simple as it can be for a four-year-old, I hang my head to the side and nod.

“Yeah, sort of. Laura was breaking the rules. She can’t come by anymore. I’m sorry.”

With her own little nod, Daisy sniffles, holding her favorite stuffy a bit closer. “Someone else is going to watch me now?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’ll find someone for when I’m working, okay? We’ll make sure she’s really nice.”

“Okay.” Daisy chews on the inside of her cheek, but her soft voice is even more quiet. “But you can be with me for now?”

My heart breaks a little at that. I want to spend as much time with Daisy as possible. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I know that every parent feels the same.

Work and responsibilities keep me away from her, not too much, I don’t think, but it’s still hard to need this help like I do.

And if I wasn’t alone in this, it would be a hell of a lot easier.

“I can, babe. But Daddy will need to find some help because he has to work, okay?”

Daisy smiles. “Okay.”

Leaning back onto the couch, she gets comfortable with Blue, her little stuffed dog, and then points to the TV.

“Can I watch? But not Ms. Rachel. It’s a baby show.”

I can’t help but laugh. As I grab the remote, I pull up YouTube to let her pick out something to watch while I think about getting us some food, which is probably going to entail ordering out becausesomeonedidn’t go grocery shopping.

God, I really do need some help—quick.

“Daddy?”

I look down at Daisy. Her brows are pinched together again, and I tilt my head. “Yeah, honey. What’s up?”

“Why don’t I have a momma instead of a nanny? That would be better.”

It takes everything I have not to break down. But I won’t do that in front of Daisy. I know she’s just trying to understand her world, and even though I’ve had this conversation with her, I also know that it takes little minds a while to process.

At least, that’s what the grief counselor and every other therapist has said.

“It would be better, hun. You’re right. Unfortunately, Momma got hurt. It was very bad, and she couldn’t get better. So,” my voice breaks, and I have to clear my throat, “she’s somewhere else now. Watching over you as best she can.”

Daisy frowns, putting her hand on mine. “Momma is like Terry?”

I’m nearly choking on the need to fall apart now. Still, the comparison is so accurate that I actually crack a smile.

“Yes, honey. Momma is like Terry, the turtle. They both got too hurt. They had to go where all things go when they pass.”

She nods again, her little brow squeezing as she tries to wrap her head around the reality of death. It’s too big for a four-year-old to have to deal with, and I’ve tried so damn hard to protect her from the vastness of pain that comes with it.

I don’t lie to her. I know better than that. But the idea of her believing that her mom will come back and then learning how untrue that is is far worse.

I don’t think I could survive her disappointment, her heartbreak.

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