Page 130 of Nine Week Nanny

The television hanging on the wall, usually showing stock tickers, replays footage from two weeks ago of me dodging reporters outside the hospital. Warren tries to block cameras with his briefcase. They made it look like some sordid affair, like Sloane was just another conquest.

They have no idea what she was to me. What she is.

"I should have protected you better," I whisper to her image on the page.

The guilt sits like concrete in my stomach.

A sharp knock breaks the silence.

"It's open," I call, straightening in my chair, shoving the crumpled paper aside.

Just as I say it, my phone buzzes on the desk. Petey’s name flashes.

I just heard from my contact at Coastal. They let her go.

I throw the phone down hard, the glass rattling against the wood.

The door opens. Warren steps in, legal pad tucked under his arm, his expression set in that mix of lawyer-calm and friend-grave. He scans the room—news clippings scattered, three Perrier bottles half-drained, me looking like I haven’t slept in a week.

“Damn, Pope,” he mutters, pulling out a chair without waiting to be invited. “You look like hell.”

“Tell me we’re done with this circus.” My voice comes out raw.

He sets the pad down, slides a stapled packet across the desk. “You are. Judge signed the final order this morning. It's official now.”

I don’t move. The judge ruled over a week ago, so getting the paperwork is anticlimactic.

Warren leans back, arms crossed. “The court record speaks for itself. They called your guardianship stable. Lennon's school reports, his psych eval, the therapist’s notes are all solid. Judge even commented on his progress with peers and vocabulary. Kid’s thriving.”

I rub a hand over my jaw. “At least one of us is. These fucking photos are going to haunt me forever. The news cycle won't die.”

"Yeah, those. I'm sorry it went down like that. But it will die out eventually."

I rub a hand over my jaw, muscles tight.

Warren’s mouth curves. "I've got to take off. I wanted to drop these off for your records. Let me know if you need me. Now, we wait for Camila, right?”

My fingers tap against my knee, an uneven rhythm. “Yeah. Fucking hell. Her life is a mess, too. Poor Lennon, always caught in the middle.”

“Things like this tend to work themselves out eventually.”

I nod once, not trusting myself to answer.

He leaves the packet on the desk and walks out. The door shuts, and silence swallows the room.

My phone buzzes again. Camila’s name lights up the screen.

I pinch the bridge of my nose before answering. “Yeah?”

Her voice comes low, tired. “I’m sorry, Pope. Sitting through that hearing today, knowing I couldn’t tell the judge I was ready, it killed me. The divorce is dragging, the house I found is only a two-bedroom rental, and it’s not enough. Everything’s still a mess.”

I lean back, staring at the ceiling. “Judge made it clear Lennon stays here until you can. That’s the deal.”

“I know.” A pause, then softer: “But I see how he looks at you. Even when he’s with me and my kids, he keeps drifting back to you. He’s drawn to you, Pope.”

My throat tightens.

“What is this, Camila?”