We hired a quiet young nanny to care for my seven-year-old son. She came with glowing references, a calm presence, and a natural way with kids. My son grew attached almost instantly — too attached. He refused to eat unless she fed him and cried whenever she left the room. At first, I was just…
We hired a quiet young nanny to care for my seven-year-old son. She came with glowing references, a calm presence, and a natural way with kids. My son grew attached almost instantly — too attached. He refused to eat unless she fed him and cried whenever she left the room.
At first, I was just grateful he felt safe with her. But one afternoon, while tidying up, I found something that stopped me cold: a laminated photo of my son tucked inside her bag. On the back, in jagged handwriting, were the words: “MY son.” Something about the way it was written felt possessive… obsessive.