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“Well, shit,” I mutter to myself, glaring at the little girl like she’s the one that’s completely messed me up. “I see how it’s gonna be.”

She just blinks up at me, innocent as hell, like she’s got no clue what’s coming next.

I shake my head, chuckling despite myself. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured fatherhood going. But it’s mine now. All of it. And if I’m gonna survive this, I’m going to need a lot more than just baby wipes and diapers.

Can you buy sanity at Costco, because I’m gonna need that shit in bulk.

I sigh, grabbing a burp cloth from the drawer and wiping myself off as best I can. “You’re lucky you’re cute, kid,” I mutter, pulling her out of the wet diaper with a little more confidence. “Otherwise, I’d be losing my shit right now.”

I get the new diaper on her quickly, and just like that, she’s done. Quiet again. Unfazed.

A grin spreads across my face as I look down at her, she’s a real cutie. I’m not gonna lie. I’m still a little overwhelmed by the whole thing. But there’s something about this little girl, something that makes the messes, the stress, and the sleepless nights I know I’m gonna have more bearable.

I’m completely lost and have no clue what I’m supposed to be doing. But for the first time, I think I’m starting to understand what it means to simply exist in the moment.

And if that means getting peed on in the middle of the night? Well, then that’s the price of admission.

I lean down, kissing her tiny forehead as she drifts off to sleep again, unaware of the mess we’re both in. I look at her and let out another deep breath, wiping my damp hands again with the cloth.

“Alright, Zoe Jane. Let’s see if we can get through the next twenty-four hours without another disaster, yeah?”

I get the feeling we’re both going to be learning a lot along the way.

My life was simple before all of this. I had my team, my deployments, and my duty. Everything fit into neat little compartments, everything under my control. But now? Now I have a baby.

I swallow hard, looking down at Zoe’s tiny face in the little baby swing Victor’s wife dropped off.

She’s asleep— thankfully —and I still can’t quite believe she’s mine or that I’m the one who has to care for her.

There’s no handbook for this. No guidelines for how to raise a kid when all you know is the grind of military life, when you’ve spent more time training for combat than you have learning how to soothe a crying infant.

I shake my head, running a hand over my face as I drop onto the couch.

The thought stings, but it’s the truth. I’ve been avoiding it, telling myself I can manage and that I’ll figure it out. But there’s no way. I’ve got missions lined up, deployments on the horizon, and a million responsibilities that don’t just disappear because I’ve got a kid now.

She’s going to need someone else. Someone who knows what they’re doing.

I lean forward, grabbing my phone off the coffee table. Time to call the nanny services I looked up last night. I’ve heard good things about them, and they have a ton of qualified nannies on staff. There’s just one problem.

Trust.

I’ve never been the type to rely on anyone.

I’m used to doing things myself—doing things the military way, where everything is methodical and controlled.

There’s no room for mistakes when lives are on the line.

But this isn’t a battlefield. It’s my daughter’s well-being.

And I’m not about to trust just anyone with that.

I mean, her own mother just dropped her off in the middle of the night. What if I hadn’t been home? If I ever see her again, the woman better have the best fucking excuse in the world for leaving my daughter and not even giving me the common courtesy of knowing that she was pregnant.

I scroll through the listings of nannies that the agency sent me, looking at their resumes and their references.

I barely even read the profiles—just skim the qualifications before moving on to the next one.

They all seem... fine. But fine isn’t enough when it comes to Zoe.

I need someone who’s more than qualified. Someone I can trust with my kid.

I stop on one particular application.

Alejandra Orozco.

The name catches my attention.

Her resume is solid—experience with children, references from previous employers who speak highly of her, a list of certifications, and a background check that comes back clear.

Everything checks out. And then there’s the part where it says she’s bilingual.

English and Spanish. My Spanish is rusty, but it would be great for Zoe to have a second language growing up.

I speak pretty decent Farsi and Pashto, having been in the middle east for a few tours.

Spanish would get her further here though.

I hesitate for a moment, then pick up the phone.

“This is Gage Donovan,” I say when she answers, keeping my voice low and professional. I don’t want to sound too eager, even though I’m kind of desperate at this point. “You applied for the nanny position I posted. I’d like to set up a face-to-face interview.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, then her voice comes through—soft, calm, and surprisingly clear for someone who’s probably just woken up. She must’ve been expecting this call.

“Of course, sir,” she replies, her accent a bit thick but pleasant. “I’d be happy to come for an interview. When would be a good time for you?”

“Today, if you can make it.” I can already feel the tightness in my chest, the knot forming as I realize I don’t know the first thing about how to run an interview. “I’ll give you the address. Can you be here at 1500 hours?”

She pauses and then agrees, and I hang up, feeling a little more unsettled than before. I glance back over at Zoe, still peacefully asleep in her swing.

What the hell am I doing?

I keep myself busy with housework for the rest of the morning—anything to keep my mind off the looming interview. I clean the living room, feed Zoe, and try to act like everything’s fine. But everything’s not fine.

Nothing is fine.

I’m about to walk upstairs to shower when the doorbell rings. I freeze then look at my watch, fuck, I lost track of time. My heart pounds. I’ve never felt so... nervous.

This isn’t a mission. This isn’t training. I don’t know how to do this. I can’t even think straight about a damn nanny interview.

I take a deep breath, compose myself, and make my way to the door. When I open it, there she is. Alejandra Orozco.

She’s standing in the doorway, looking like she’s ready to take on the world.

My world.

Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, her face clean of makeup but still impossibly beautiful.

Rein it in, buddy. She’s dressed simply, in a loose T-shirt and jeans, her posture straight but relaxed.

Not at all what I was expecting. She’s not wearing a starched uniform or some professional getup.

She looks normal. Like someone who’s been through her own kind of grind. She’s not trying too hard.

I approve.

I clear my throat and stand a little straighter. “Alejandra Orozco?”

“Yes,” she replies, offering a small smile. “I’m here for the interview.”

I step aside to let her in, trying to ignore the way her eyes scan the place and the way she’s taking it all in. I feel self-conscious, like I’m under a microscope.

“So... uh...” I start, trying to find the words. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?” I mentally go through the contents of the refrigerator to see what else I can offer.

She shakes her head, still with that calm, steady demeanor. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

I give her a nod, trying to be professional. I lead her into the living room, where Zoe is now awake, her tiny hands reaching up from her swing.

Alejandra’s eyes immediately shift to the baby, and I see something flicker across her face. It’s the way she looks at Zoe—like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. But then she catches herself, pulling back slightly.

I don’t know what to make of it.

We sit down, and I try to keep things businesslike. I tell myself to stay focused on the task at hand.

This is an interview, Donovan. Keep your eyes above her collarbone.

She does have a really pretty neck, my hand would fit nicely around it.

Fucking Christ! Stop it!

“So,” I begin, trying to ignore the sexual tension brewing in my gut, “you’ve got great references, and your resume checks out. Tell me a little about your experience with children.”

She nods, her expression serious but not nervous.

“I’ve worked as a nanny for the past two years, mostly for Navy families.

So I’m used to the schedule—being flexible when parents are deployed, handling the unexpected.

I’ve worked with kids of all ages, from infants to teenagers.

I’m also bilingual, Spanish being my native tongue.

A lot of the families appreciate that, especially since we live in California.

I was born in Guadalajara and moved to California when I was twenty to go to school. ”

Her words are calm and confident. She knows what she’s talking about.

But the part about working with military families.

.. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

It makes sense, given my job, but it also makes me suspicious.

Each branch is different. There’s a different level of understanding required.

And I don’t know if I can trust someone who’s worked with too many soldiers.

I don’t know if I want someone who knows too much about the lifestyle.

But there’s no time to second-guess. Zoe needs someone, and if Alejandra can handle it, then maybe—just maybe—she’s the right choice.

“So, what made you apply for this position?” I ask, leaning back, trying to gauge her reaction. “You’re living in San Diego, right? Not too far away.”

She pauses for a moment, then looks at me with a kind of quiet resolve.

“I need the job. We lost my father last year and I have younger siblings back in Mexico who need help, and this job will allow me to help take care of them. I’ve always enjoyed working with children, as it’s what I got my degree in, and this position seems like a good longer-term fit. ”

A flicker of empathy crosses my face as I nod, but I quickly mask it with a neutral expression. I can’t let myself get too caught up in her reasons. I need to stay professional.

After a few more questions, we finish the interview, and I’m left with the feeling that she’s solid. Let’s just hope that I’m making the right decision. I walk her out to her car, Zoe in my arms. Alejandra waves as she drives off and I’m left standing there, my daughter cooing softly.

“What do you think, kid? Is she the winner?” Zoe lets out a long groan and her diaper rumbles under my palm. “Seriously?” I stared down at her and let out a drawn-out laugh.

I swear I caught her smiling.