Martin was running late. He was fuming. He knew once he’d get home he’d find his daughter, Emma, kicking and screaming. She didn't like nannies, and only wanted him to cuddle her to sleep.

He had asked you to stay for a while longer than your usual, hoping you’d manage until he got there.

He headed to the couch where you and Emma were cuddled up. He gently shook your shoulder, “It’s late for you to go home tonight,” He whispered gently after you stirred awake.