I Hired A Fake Date For My Company Gala — But When My 6-Year-Old Daughter Met Her, Everything Changed

Part 2

I leaned back against the headboard, keeping my arm tightly wrapped around Megan’s small, trembling shoulders, and watched Brenda.

“You did?”

Megan asked, her voice barely a rough whisper.

“I did,” Brenda nodded slowly, her expression completely serious.

“I was so incredibly afraid that something terrible would happen to my mommy or my daddy.”

Megan sniffled again, her wide, tear-filled eyes locked intently on Brenda’s face.

“And do you know what my grandmother told me when I was crying just like you?”

Brenda asked softly.

“What?”

Megan asked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“She told me that worrying is exactly like sitting in a rocking chair.”

Brenda gently smoothed a stray lock of hair away from Megan’s damp forehead.

“It gives you something to do, but it absolutely doesn’t get you anywhere.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat at the profound simplicity of those words.

“She said that instead of spending all our precious time worrying about bad things that might happen, we should spend our time being incredibly thankful for all the good things we have right now.”

“But bad things do happen,” Megan protested, her voice cracking.

“My mommy died and she didn’t come back.”

I braced myself, waiting for Brenda to offer a shiny, empty platitude to smooth over the harsh reality of death.

Instead, Brenda’s eyes filled with genuine sorrow.

“You’re absolutely right, Megan,” Brenda said gently.

“Bad things do happen in life.

And it’s incredibly unfair, and it hurts more than anything.”

Megan buried her face in my shirt again, her small fingers clutching the fabric.

“But do you know what else is true?”

Brenda asked, leaning slightly closer.

“Your daddy loves you so incredibly much.

He came rushing all the way home from his fancy party tonight just because he knew you were scared.”

I looked away, pressing my teeth firmly into the inside of my cheek.

“He takes care of you every single day,” Brenda continued, her voice steady and warm.

“And Mrs. Carter loves you dearly.

And I bet you have wonderful friends and teachers who love you, too.”

Brenda reached out and gently covered Megan’s small hand with her own.

“All of that immense love is completely real, right now, in this exact moment.

That’s what we can hold on to when we feel afraid.”

Megan was perfectly quiet for a long time, her breathing slowly evening out as she processed this.

The heavy silence in the bedroom felt completely different now, stripped of its panic and replaced by a fragile, tentative peace.

Then, Megan looked up at Brenda with those serious, perceptive eyes that reminded me so painfully of Sarah.

“Are you going away now?”

she asked.

Brenda glanced up at me, clearly uncertain of how to navigate this crossing of professional boundaries.

“Well, I should probably get going home now,” she said carefully.

“Can you please stay just a little bit longer?”

Megan begged, her bottom lip quivering.

“Just until I fall asleep, please?”

I fully expected Brenda to make a polite excuse, to gently but firmly extract herself from this emotionally messy, highly unprofessional situation.

Instead, she looked directly into my eyes, silently asking for my permission.

“If you really don’t mind,” I said quietly, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

So Brenda stayed right there with us.

She moved to sit in the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room while I lay down on the mattress next to my daughter.

And in a beautifully soft, melodic voice, Brenda began to tell a story crafted entirely from her own imagination.

By the time her soothing story finally ended, Megan was fast asleep, her small hand firmly wrapped around two of my fingers.

I carefully extracted myself from the tangled blankets, pulled the quilt up to her chin, and motioned for Brenda to follow me out into the hallway.

We walked quietly down the stairs, the massive house completely silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.

Would she run out the door the second I paid her, completely overwhelmed by the grief that haunted my home?