Episode 6

Sophia

This morning, I dash upstairs with three bottles in tow. It's been a fun month, trialing different formula milks.

Mia has a new favorite milk each week, and we sometimes agree on our favorites and sometimes not. Although the little one is still unnamed, thanks to her father's indifference, I resolved not to spend all my time calling her 'baby,' so I've chosen a name for her. When they finally settle on a name, I'll call her by that, but for now, she is Mia.

"Today we have three new formulas to try, Mia," I tell her as she waves her hands eagerly in her crib.

I pick her up and kiss her cheeks, which are finally starting to fill out. It's been challenging at first, as she was suspicious of every bottle, but I think she's getting what we're doing now.

I settle into the cream-colored armchair, by the wall adorned with enormous sunflowers and butterflies that I painted myself. I even slept with Mia in my room until I was sure that her room was chemical-free.

"Here's the first," I say.

I taste it first, keeping the milk in my mouth to really get the flavor.

"A bit sweet, but I think I preferred the vanilla one, remember that?"

Mia bubbles with saliva in her mouth, which I take as a yes.

She tries it, taking a sip before spitting out the nipple.

"Yeah, I thought you wouldn't like that one."

The next one makes me grimace; it's so bad I don't even offer it to Mia, it's worse than her first-ever formula. Finally, the third one makes me smile in surprise.

"I think we have a new winner."

Mia starts to feed vigorously once she tastes it, clearly a favorite for her too. She clenches her fists with joy. Seeing her this happy is delightful. I can't understand why her dad hasn't come to visit her yet. She's over a month old and he hasn't even called to check on her. Anna says that her boss is just like that, but I think her boss is an irredeemable jerk.

If he took the time to get to know her, he'd fall in love with Mia just as I have. She's so sweet and curious; every day with her is a treasure.

I definitely have the best job in the world.

I stroke her blonde hair back from her forehead, as she eagerly finished off her bottle.

"Well done, Mia, that's the way. You're the most beautiful girl in the world, sweetheart."

Her clear green eyes look into mine and she pulls a cute face. I can't resist kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her little belly.

She smiles, though her pediatrician—whom I'm starting to dislike—says it's not a smile but a sign she might be gassy.

Another jerk.

I lay her on my chest and she begins to sigh immediately. I gently rub her back, enjoying the adorable sounds she makes. After kissing the top of her head, it doesn't take long for her to start closing her beautiful eyes.

Mia's sleepy.

I begin to hum Taylor Swift's "Seven," a song Mia and I both love, and before it ends, she's fast asleep.

I savor a few more minutes holding this precious little one, and as I do, I think of her mother. It's such a shame she couldn't be here to enjoy her beautiful baby girl.

"I promise, sweetheart, I will show you videos and pictures of your mom every day, the way dad did with me. And when that foolish pediatrician finally lets us, we'll go to the cemetery together to visit her."

I look at the time and frown. It's nearly one in the morning. I need to put her down so she can rest well before her next feed. I kiss her cheek and walk her to her new crib. I lay her down and turn on the light from a plush toy I bought for her, which helps her sleep.

I cover her little body with her new hypoallergenic blanket and stroke her belly a bit longer before stepping away.

I also need to sleep. I've spent many nights awake when Mia has had a rough day or been troubled by colic, thankfully happening less often now.

I leave the room with the baby monitor in hand, to alert me when she wakes.

Despite feeling weary, I head downstairs to the kitchen. I'm hungry, not having eaten since lunch.

I open the fridge and take out a carton of milk and a sandwich Mrs. Anna made for me but I hadn't had the time to eat. I grab a glass and fill it with milk.

I play my favorite Spotify playlist on my phone, and as I eat, I start to dance on the spot. Dad always said I could never keep still, and he was right. I hate sitting around doing nothing, only enjoying those quiet moments when I'm holding Mia.

I take my glass of milk and start circling the large kitchen island, arms in the air, reveling in my alone time.

Suddenly, a noise, then a huge hand grabs me from my belly, lifting my feet off the ground, and I feel a gun at the side of my head.

"Who the hell are you?" demands a gravelly voice at my back, sending chills along my spine.

"I... I..." I falter as my mouth refuses to cooperate.

I drop the glass of milk and feel small shards of glass embed in my calves and feet.

His hand, enveloping my entire belly, slides up my body, brushing my breasts, then clutches my throat, squeezing harshly.

"Don't make me ask again," the voice behind me insists.

My body, initially frozen, starts to heat up—whether from fear, fury, or something else, I'm not sure. But I feel a frisson of pleasure at the touch of his breath on my neck, and shockingly, the pressure on my throat feels too good.

Far too good.

He tightens his grip and a moan, half sigh, escapes my lips involuntarily.

"Damn it, you're enjoying this," he grumbles in my ear, and it takes all my effort not to make any more noises. His nose lightly grazes my neck, and I clench my legs together feeling a tingling spreading from my belly to other parts of my body. "Who are you, sweetheart?" he asks again, but I can't find my voice. "Please, tell me you're not the freaking nanny."

"I am," I reply, my voice weak and needy in a way I barely recognize as my own.

What's happening to me?

"Holy s***\," he growls and to my embarrassment\, another moan slips out.

How mortifying!

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