Page 64 of Jane Deyre

“I have to.”

She looks up at me with her swollen, red-rimmed eyes, tears storming down her cheeks. “Why?”

“Because...”

“Because why?” Her watering eyes hold me fiercely. My heart is splintering.

“Sweetie, it’s hard to explain. It’s just not good for me to be here.”

She blinks several times. Her lips quiver. “B-but you like it here!”

“I do... I mean I did.”

“Don’t you want to stay with me?”

I stroke her silky hair. Savoring each strand.Yes, my sweetness.

“And with Papa too?”

Words stay trapped in my throat. I want to be with him so badly. And here, reader, lies the problem.

Adele clings to me. “Don’t you want to take care of me?”

“Of course, she doesn’t,” comes a familiar tart voice. Ms. Fairfax. “No one can put up with you, you horrid child, including myself.”

Adele cries harder. “Please, Jane! I’ll be the best girl ever!”

“Sweetie, don’t listen to her. Youarethe best girl!” My heart squeezes with guilt. How can I leave this sweet, beautiful child with this witch? I say the words I need to say before I change my mind. Look her straight in the eye.

“Ms. Fairfax, I’m quitting.”

“NOOOOOOO!” wails Adele, gripping me harder.

I hand Ms. Fairfax the envelope I’m holding. “Here’s my resignation letter.” I last minute scribbled it on a piece of paper.

She snatches the envelope from me, not bothering to open it. And smirks. “Well, Jane Deyre, you win the prize. Every other nanny lasted at least forty-eight hours. I overestimated you.”

Tears brimming in the back of my eyes, I should lash out at her, but I’m too emotionally drained. Too defeated. Instead, I say, my voice feeble, “I left the guesthouse intact. You no longer have to send for a locksmith. I won’t need a key.”

She flashes a smug smile. “Well, at least that’s one thing off my to-do list.”

A gruff voice: “Put it back on your list!”

Shocked, I look up.

Mr. Rochester!

Adele: “Papa!” She breaks free of me. As she makes a beeline for her father, Ms. Fairfax holds her back by one of her braids.

“Ow!” cries the little girl, trying to wrench herself free. “You’re hurting me!”

“Let’s go up to your room.”

“Let go of her,” I yell about to intervene.

“Mind your own busi—” Before she can complete her sentence, Adele kicks her hard in the shin.

With a yelp, the malefic woman lets go of Adele’s braid. “You little brat!” She glowers at Mr. Rochester. “Punish that child! She’s a danger! If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”