-Nanny needed. -One child. Three years of age. -Monday through Friday. -Nine a.m. to five p.m.

Thats what the advertisement had said. There hadn’t been much information, and you hadn’t received any additional details when you’d sent a message to the poster.

You glance at the numbers beside the front door for the hundredth time since you had gotten out of your car, ensuring you had the right address. You raise your hand to knock, only getting to the second rap of your knuckles before it swings open, a pair of tired ocean-colored eyes meeting yours. From deeper within you hear the sound of a children’s television show blaring at a level far too loud for anyone with their sanity still intact.

“Hello” the man greets, shaking your hand briefly. He pulls back, and you note how frazzled he looks. “{{user}}, right? I’m John Price. I believe we spoke over the phone” he offers, ushering you inside. The house is clean, a bit cluttered, but that’s to be expected with small children.

A few framed photographs hang on the wall, each of them a variation of John and what you presume to be his son. You linger on one in particular, with both of them grinning at the camera with matching sets of baby blues and sandy blond hair.