Kamille’s POV

Settling into a new place was the worst job I’d ever had. It wasn't as fun as it sounded.

Looking at the beautifully arranged and decorated house, I smiled in satisfaction. I only had one more thing to do to complete the settling-in process.

I moved to the living room, sat on a sofa near the window, and admired the beautiful orchids growing wild on the terrace.

After a few rings, a voice answered, “Hello, Miss Smith here. How may I help you?” The voice was warm and welcoming.

I smiled. “I’d like to hire a nanny for my children.” She asked a couple of questions before we ended the call. My children deserved the best nanny; I’d be busy in London, and I had no intention of exposing them to anything unpleasant.

Darkness fell quickly. I went to the children’s room. The boys shared a room with separate beds, while Tyris had her own room nearby.

“Time for bed, kids,” I said, interrupting their play. I expected the usual grumbling, but none came.

I tucked the boys in and picked up Tyris. I sat in the rocking chair near their beds and sang them a lullaby:

White glows the lily, Red glows the rose, Here lie my babies, I’m watching them glow.

Early in my marriage to Zeke, I’d always sung that to him. The thought brought back unwelcome memories. A painful smile touched my lips as my children fell asleep. I sang to them every night.

My eyes ached.

I stood, took Tyris to her room, and closed the door. Immediately, I burst into tears. I hurried back to my room and cried some more.

Shit! I had to do something. Fuck Zeke!

I wiped my tears and left the room. I went to the basement, where I still had a few boxes to unpack. I searched until I found my phone book in one of my bags. I smiled.

I scanned the pages, my index finger tracing the lines until I found the numbers I was looking for, right next to each other: Amanda and Belle, the only people I could rely on in London. Unlike my so-called family.

I quickly typed the first number and paused before hitting the call button.

This was it. This call would determine what happened next for my family and Zeke.

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, then pressed the call button.

“Hello, this is Amanda, how may I help you?” she answered loudly.

Loud music, a DJ’s mixtape, party cheers, and loud chatter—she was at a club! Amanda was still the free-spirited young lady I knew, an excellent content creator with beautiful ideas.

“Hello? Who am I speaking with?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

“It’s me, Kamille,” I replied calmly. There was no response, and the background noise gradually faded.

“Now you fucking listen to me. I don’t know what stupid games you’re playing, but if you’re impersonating my friend, you’ll wish you were actually dead!” she yelled.

My heart melted at her protective words. I smiled and blinked away the tears forming in my eyes. “Oh, Amanda, it’s really me. I’m alive and well. I’m in London.” I spoke calmly.

“I’m giving you one more chance to stop lying,” she replied, unconvinced.

I took a deep breath. “I know everyone thinks I died in that car accident, but I didn’t. Well, I almost did, but a good Samaritan saved me. After the news of my death, I decided to leave the country and build a new life away from my problems.”

“Wait, Kamille, is this really you?” she asked calmly.

“Yes, it is,” I replied. There was no response, then a sniffle.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to believe. It’s been four fucking years!” she cried.

“I know, and I’m sorry I’m only contacting you now,” I replied, fiddling with the hem of my blouse.

“Oh, dear Kamille. I missed you so much. I cried for so long. I want to see you. No, I need to see you. Where are you?” Her voice was filled with emotion.

I missed them far more than I’d realized. I quickly texted her my address.

With renewed determination, I called Belle’s home number. After a few rings, she answered. “Hi, Belle, it’s Kamille, your friend,” I said, awaiting her response.

She gasped, “Kamille? The Kamille?” She was the opposite of Amanda; calm and composed. A dermatologist, her life was as organized as her response.

“Yes,” I replied. “I mean, no. I didn’t die. I was saved and left for the US after the news of my death spread.” Her calm demeanor made me unsure if she believed me.

“Kamille, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to react.”

“How about we meet? You, Amanda, and me, at the place I’ll text you now. Can you meet me there?”

“Now? Why not? I’ll be on my way as soon as I get the text.”

“Okay.” The line went dead.

I dropped the phone book and headed back to my room. I took a cold shower, then put on a black leather jacket, black pants, a black camisole, and boots. Satisfied with my appearance, I left the room.

Ding dong!

I opened the door to an elderly woman with a warm smile.

“Hello, Miss Manor. I’m Nanny Dona. I was sent by the agency you called.”

“Oh, come in,” I invited her, offering her a seat. I was surprised the agency hired someone so elderly. I wanted someone older, but I hadn’t expected this.

I interviewed her, reviewed her portfolio again. Despite my initial reservations, she passed the credibility check, but I still had doubts.

Sensing my hesitation, she said, “You needn’t worry, Miss Manor. Your children will be safe with me. I raised seven children alone.” The pride in her eyes eased my concerns. I hired her and showed her around the house.

“I’m stepping out, Nanny Dona. I won’t be long.” She nodded.

Let’s do this, Kamille!

I left the house.