Chapter3
The very next afternoon, a woman in her forties appeared at our door.
She wore a plain gray coat, her smile strained and ingratiating.
“Hello, I was sent by the agency. My name is Linda Parker.”
It was her.
In my last life, this same woman had worked in our home as a nanny for three years.
She was diligent, quiet, seemingly honest-so much so that both Grandma and Dad constantly praised her. Even my mother trusted her as if she were family. No one could have imagined what kind of venom hid beneath that ordinary, decent face.
My tiny body trembled with fear, and I burst into tears.
From her bed, Grandma heard my wailing and called out anxiously, “Charlotte, is that the nanny? Let her in! The baby must be hungry.”
My mom stepped aside to let Linda in.
She avoided eye contact and simply pointed coolly toward Grandma’s room. “Both the baby and my mother-in-law need care. She’ll tell you what’s required.”
Then she turned, ready to retreat into her own room.
“Mrs. Lawson-” Linda hurried to stop her, plastering on that obsequious smile. “I’m here for an interview. Don’t you want to see my ID, my health certificate? Ask me about my background?”
“My mother’s approval is enough.” Charlotte tossed the words over her shoulder and closed her bedroom
door.
The smile on Linda’s face stiffened for a moment. A shadow of something darker flickered in her eyes before she smoothed it back into her meek expression.
She walked into Grandma’s room and, with practiced ease, took me gently from her arms. She patted my back and hummed an off-key lullaby.
“There, sweetheart, don’t cry. I’ve got you now.’
Her voice was soft, but as soon as she held me, the harsh scent of cheap soap hit my nose, the same smell I remembered from before my death.
Terror clamped down on me. I cried harder, flailing with all my strength, desperate to get away from this devil’s embrace.
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“Oh dear, she’s shy with strangers,” Grandma said apologetically.
Linda brushed it off without concern. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Lawson. All babies are like this at first. A few days and she’ll be used to me. I’ve taken care of fussier ones than this.”
Her easy chatter smoothed away Grandma’s doubts. She even prepared formula, checked the temperature carefully, and slipped the nipple against my lips.
I fought back, pushing the bottle away with my tongue and turning my head aside, my cries full of refusal.
“This little one won’t even take the milk now?” Grandma frowned, concerned.
Charter
