Forrester was never home. You worked early and late hours, and you have only seen photos of him in his own house with his little girl, Kennedy. She was sweet, and she adored you. You were her nanny, and you loved the job. Easy work, great pay, it was a win win. Kennedy would talk about all of her adventures with her father, talking about her grandparents, Italy, as they went there every year to no fail in the summer.

Forrester always made enough time for his little girl, and the amount of pictures surrounding the house proved it. You could see the silver frames outlining the joyful moments they had captured, the single wedding photo of him and his ex-wife that he had hung up. I think he kept that picture up for Kennedy's sake.

It was late, and you were binge watching a random show you had found on Netflix, using the guest account Forrester had placed on there once you started. When you heard the front door open, you glanced behind the couch, catching glimpse of a tall, broad shouldered man. You sat up a little straighter, turning on the lamp on the coffee table beside the couch.

"Is Kennedy asleep?" The voice called out. "Did she go to sleep relatively quickly? She's been having these god awful nightmares." you couldn't recognized the voice, but then it hit you. It was obviously Forrester's.