Chapter 1
I’ve always been a shitty dad. Not in the sense of being absent — no one could accuse me of that — but in those basic, practical things that require skill, patience, and that sensitivity that seems to come in the DNA of some people. Changing diapers, soothing cries, distinguishing hunger cries from sleepy ones — I was always terrible at it. My wife, on the other hand, seemed like an oracle. From the sound of the cry, she already knew if it was a dirty diaper, hunger, or just fussing. It was like magic. Like that story of a mechanic who diagnoses the car’s problem just by the engine noise.
We were living abroad at the time. We didn’t have family nearby, no close friends who could help, no one who would take on the thankless task of caring for a child knowing one of the parents was home. It was my responsibility, after all, but since my wife would never trust our baby’s life to me, we hired a babysitter to stay at home for a few days while she was away.
We hired an agency to cover the days my wife needed to travel. Everything was set, scheduled in advance, times adjusted. But, of course, on the day of departure, they called saying they had no professionals available. The high season had exhausted the roster of babysitters, and they could only send someone in the evening, with no guarantees.
My wife panicked. She wanted to cancel the trip, already imagining herself on a plane back before even leaving. But I didn’t let her. I calmed her down, said it wasn’t the end of the world. After all, I was the father, right? It was just taking care of our daughter for a few hours until the babysitter arrived. And if something went wrong, I could always call her for advice. It wouldn’t be that complicated.
Besides, our daughter was an angel. She slept most of the day, woke up to nurse, and loved being held, “chatting” with whoever was around. She was one of those who made curious eyes and let out excited squeals when someone approached. A true sweetheart.
The truth is, even with my history of clumsiness, I wanted to prove I could handle it. That I could be more than the dad who only shows up in photos. And I focused on that task — it was just not letting the kid fall headfirst on the floor.
The day went better than I expected. I managed the feedings, changes, and even some improvised playtime that drew giggles from my daughter. After the walk, she slept like a rock, and I had that rare moment of silence to recharge. It seemed like everything was falling into place.
Around eight at night, I heard the doorbell. I got up from the couch, still holding an empty bottle, and went to the door. When I opened it, I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
It was a girl.
Tall for her age, blonde, with skin almost pale it was so white, her hair tied in a messy ponytail, and her face slightly flushed from the cold. She wore one of those hoodies teenagers love, all scribbled with phrases and drawings I couldn’t read, and she was stamping her feet on the ground as if the cold was biting her bones.
“Can I help you?” I asked, a bit suspicious.
“Hi, I’m the babysitter from the agency… Everything okay?” She smiled, but her eyes scanned the street as if they wanted to escape far away.
I frowned, still holding the door with one hand.
“Everything… but sweetie, how old are you?” I asked, trying not to sound rude, but definitely surprised.
She shrugged, as if she expected the question.
“I’m of age. It’s freezing out here, can I come in?”
She took a step toward the door before I even answered, and by reflex, I stepped aside, letting her pass. The cold air that came in with her made my skin prickle, or maybe it was the whole situation.
“Sorry, but aren’t you too young? My daughter is too little, have you worked with this before?” I asked, trying to sound more concerned than suspicious, but my words came out harsher than I intended.
She looked at me with a mix of boredom and irritation, her dark eyes quick, scanning the living room as if already sizing up the work ahead. There was something about her that made me uncomfortable, maybe the carefree way she entered, already feeling at home.
“Sir, I have two little brothers, okay? I’ve taken care of kids my whole life.” She glanced around quickly, like someone assessing the territory. “And I need the money, got it?”
She then took off her coat with a decisive gesture, revealing what was underneath. The place was warm, the thermostat at about seventy-two degrees, and I understood why she didn’t hesitate to shed the heavy sweater. Underneath, she wore only a tight, short crop top that left part of her belly exposed. Her breasts were bigger than I’d expect for someone her age, firm, full, with her nipples clearly outlined through the thin fabric — definitely no bra.
I confess, that caught me off guard. For a second, my mind got lost in those curves, in the white skin contrasting with the dark fabric. I knew it was wrong, but my body reacted before I could control it. I felt my face heat up, and my words came out before I could think better.
“Alright, if anything, I’ll call the agency tomorrow. Just one thing” I nodded toward her with my chin, “no drinking in this house, no smoking, and no strangers, understood?”
She let out a quick giggle, like someone who’d heard that speech before.
“Got it. I don’t drink or smoke” she replied, with an ironic tone and that little smirk in the corner of her mouth that made it clear it wasn’t entirely true. “In this country, you can only after 21, right?”
Said the girl who still carried the strong smell of cigarette smoke clinging to her clothes.
“Sir, can I take a shower and change before seeing the baby?” she asked, her voice firm, as if it wasn’t exactly a request, but a statement that she’d do it anyway.
“Sure, this way. I’ll show you the bathroom.” I replied, trying to sound natural, but feeling my heart race for no apparent reason.
She grabbed the big backpack she’d left by the door and followed me up the stairs. The smell of cigarette smoke still trailed her, mixed with a faint sweet perfume, maybe one of those cheap sprays girls buy at drugstores. I led her to the upstairs bathroom, next to my suite. I stopped in front of the door, trying not to seem as curious as I felt.
“Here, make yourself at home. Towels are in that cabinet under the sink” I pointed, forcing a smile that she returned with a short nod, without much enthusiasm.
She brushed past me, entered the bathroom, and closed the door with a firm click. For a moment, my more primal side almost pushed me to peek through the keyhole, but I was too old for that kind of thing. I turned my back and went downstairs, trying to focus on the sleeping child in the living room.
A few minutes later, I heard her light footsteps coming down the stairs. When I turned around, what I saw took my breath away for a second. She was wearing a pajama set — short, thin shorts that barely covered the curve of her thighs and a tight t-shirt that outlined every curve of her still-damp body. Her loose hair fell over her shoulders, still dripping slightly. She smiled when she saw me, her eyes sparkling in a way that made me look away so I wouldn’t seem like a creepy old man.
She approached the baby carrier, peeking at the little one who was still sleeping peacefully.
“Has she been sleeping since early?” she asked, her voice now softer, as if the shower had also washed away the impatience she’d brought in from the cold outside.
“She woke up a bit before you arrived, ate, and went back to sleep. I think she’s tired, not sure if she’ll wake up again tonight. But get ready, around five in the morning she wakes up full of energy.” I replied, trying to keep my eyes on the baby, but betraying myself every second with quick glances at those legs moving across my carpet like they belonged to another world.