When we hired a baby nurse, I thought it was the best decision we could make as new parents. Exhaustion had hollowed out my eyes, and every cry in the middle of the night left me trembling with nerves. Her name was Clara—gentle hands, a calming voice, the kind of woman who radiated patience. She hummed lullabies in a language I didn’t recognize, and my daughter melted into her arms like she belonged there. For weeks, Clara felt like a blessing. Until the night my husband walked in, and she dropped the bottle she was holding, her face crumpling into tears.
It was around midnight. The baby had finally fallen asleep, and I was sipping lukewarm tea when Daniel came home early from a work trip. He tiptoed into the nursery, smiling softly at our daughter. But the moment Clara saw him, her entire body stiffened. The bottle slipped from her hands, milk spilling onto the floor. Her knees buckled, and she whispered his name like it was a curse. “Daniel?”
I froze. My husband blinked, caught off guard. “Clara?” he whispered back, his face draining of color. My stomach tightened. “You… know each other?” I asked slowly, dread clawing at me. Clara’s tears spilled freely as she shook her head, covering her face. “I—I didn’t know it was you,” she whispered.
Daniel reached for her arm, his voice urgent. “You shouldn’t be here.” My blood ran cold. “What do you mean she shouldn’t be here?” I demanded, my voice sharp. My baby stirred in her crib, the air so thick with tension it felt like the walls were listening. Clara sobbed harder, collapsing into the rocking chair. “I didn’t take this job to hurt you,” she said through her tears. “I swear I didn’t know.”
My pulse hammered in my ears. “Know what?” I snapped, my voice cracking. Daniel’s hands trembled as he rubbed his face. “We used to… we had a relationship,” he admitted. “Before I met you.”
The room tilted. My knees threatened to give out. “A relationship?” My voice was hoarse. “What kind of relationship?” Clara’s cries deepened, and she looked up at me with eyes filled with shame. “I loved him,” she whispered. “And when he left, I thought I’d never see him again. I didn’t know he was your husband.”
The nursery spun around me—stuffed animals, pastel wallpaper, the soft breathing of my baby—all of it tainted now. I looked at Daniel, his face pleading, but all I saw was betrayal. “You brought her into our home,” I said, my voice hollow. “Around our child. And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”
Clara tried to stand, reaching for my hand. “Please believe me, I didn’t plan this. I would never hurt you or your baby.” But her touch felt like fire, and I pulled away. “You already did.”
The next morning, Clara resigned, her tear-streaked face haunting me as she walked out the door with her bag clutched tight. My baby cooed in her crib, unaware of the storm that had torn through the night. Daniel tried to apologize, swearing it was all in the past, swearing he loved only me. But the image of Clara’s broken face, the way she collapsed when she saw him, played on repeat in my mind.
Because sometimes, the past doesn’t stay buried. Sometimes, it walks right back into your nursery and holds your child in its arms.
