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She is afraid of thunder. She will never admit it. It helps her if you count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder.

She hates goodbyes and refuses to say the word. Always say “see you soon” or “see you later”, even if you have no clue when later is.

Ember knew my daughter. She’d paid attention as if she loved her. I had been foolish to think that she was just a nanny doing her job. She was a person who had learned all the small things about Sophie and wrote it all down so that in case someone else took over, they would know. I closed the binder, leaving it on the counter, and went to my office, where I closed the door behind me.

When I came out of my office a little after six, I made my way to the kitchen to start dinner. I’d just pulled out a pot when I heard what sounded like papers being shuffled around coming from the living room.

I made my way down the hall to find Sophie sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, the binder I had left on the counter open in front of her. She must have taken it before I’d come out of my office. She sat there with it open in front of her, her small finger tracing Ember’s handwriting while her lips moved slightly as if she were sounding out the words.

“Soph,” I said, gently. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t look up at me; she just kept reading, and when she finally spoke, her voice cracked.

“She wrote about my green shirt.”

“What?”

“Ember…she wrote about my green shirt and how I like it the best. She wrote it down,” she said, her chin trembling. “She wrote all the things about me.”

“I know, baby.”

“She knew everything!” Sophie screamed, looking up at me as her face crumpled. “She knew all my things, and she left me anyway.”

Sophie picked up the binder and threw it across the room. The pages scattered, some of them sliding under the couch. Sophie doubled over and screamed.

“Why does everyone leave?” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. “First Mommy, then Nanny Maria, Nanny Karen and Nanny Beth, and now Ember! She promised me! She said she would stay, and she LIED!”

I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms. She fought me, her small fists hitting my chest, pushing against my shoulders, and then she collapsed into me, sobbing so hard her whole body convulsed.

“I hate that binder.” She choked. “Make it go away! I hate it!”

“I know, baby, I know,” I said, hugging her tightly, fighting off my own tears.

Holding her I let her cry. I pressed my face into her hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. Ember had switched it to a lavender scent because Sophie had told her it helped her sleep. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel everything I’d been trying to avoid for the past two days.

Sophie continued to cry the same way she had at her mother’s funeral. She started hiccupping, then shuddering with exhaustion before she finally stopped. I picked her up and carried her upstairs and sat with her on her bed, the orange glow of the fairy lights around us until her breathing evened out and her hand finally let go of mine as she fell asleep.

I stayed with her for a long time. Then I made my way downstairs and cleaned up the pages from the binder and put them back in order. I took the binder to the kitchen and put it up in one of the high cupboards and made myself a coffee.

I sat down at the island and picked up my phone and checked my email. There was one from Ember, sent a little over an hour ago. There wasn’t a subject line or any text, just an attachment. It was the end of Moonlit Mistakes.

Putting on my glasses, I opened the attachment.

Rain fell so hard I was soaked in two minutes, but I still couldn’t make myself move. I stood at the end of his driveway, suitcase in hand, and stared up at the house I’d called home for the last eleven months. The kitchen light was on, and I could see his shadow moving around, getting dinner ready.

My throat tightened as his bedroom light turned on a few minutes later.

I could picture him up there, pulling his shirt over his head, checking his phone to see if I’d texted. He probably hadn’t found my note yet, but he would find it soon enough. I’d left it on the kitchen counter, over by the coffeemaker, folded once, his name written on the front of the note.

I didn’t say all I wanted to in that note. There was no way I could. Instead, I’d written the reasons I loved him, told him how I felt every morning I’d woken next to him and thought to myself that this is it, this is what I’ve been waiting for and how I’d never be able to walk out the door.

Only I did. I walked out.

Rain was coming down harder now, running down my neck and into my shirt even though I had my jacket on. I stood there staring up at the house, wishing the rain would wash away the pain I felt.

I saw a shadow move behind the bedroom curtains. I wanted him to come to the window and see me standing in the rain like an idiot. I wanted him to throw open the front door and tell me I was being ridiculous and come back inside.

That was the problem. The problem was I’d fallen in love with a widower and while I knew he would give up everything, and he’d do it without hesitation, I couldn’t let him. So I stood here, freezing, rain dripping off my chin, hoping for a different ending, knowing one wasn’t coming.