Brittney had come into our lives when Bella was three and stayed for eight years.
« It’s from Brittney. »
Calling her our nanny never felt like enough.
She packed lunches, braided hair, sat through dance recitals, and somehow knew whether Bella needed advice or hot chocolate.
When I worked late, they made pancakes and waffles for dinner.
On weekends, they planted flowers in the backyard.
Once, when Bella was seven, she’d told me, « She knows me almost as well as you do. »
Calling her our nanny never felt like enough.
I’d laughed.
When Brittney became seriously ill, Bella visited whenever I could take her.
Continue on the next page:
