Updated Feb 23, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Dominic
Dominic St. Clair has been watching his son’s new nanny for three days and he’s starting to understand why the previous six quit.
Not because Jules is difficult.
Because watching someone be this good with your child—this patient, this creative, this genuinely engaged—makes you painfully aware of your own inadequacies as a parent.
It’s Wednesday morning.
Dominic’s working from his home office, door cracked open so he can monitor the situation.
Professional supervision, he tells himself.
Making sure the new nanny is competent.
Definitely not watching because Valencia Rivera is fascinating in a way he hasn’t allowed himself to notice in eighteen months.
She’s on the living room floor with Jules, surrounded by art supplies.
“Okay, buddy,” Valencia’s saying, her voice warm and encouraging. “We’re going to paint whatever we want. No rules. Just colors and fun. Sound good?”
Jules nods.
Still not speaking—it’s only been three days—but he’s engaged in a way Dominic hasn’t seen since before Amelie died.
Actually looking at Valencia.
Actually participating.
Actually present instead of locked in his own silent world.
“What color should we start with?” Valencia asks, holding up paint bottles.
Jules points to blue.
“Excellent choice. Blue is my favorite too. Reminds me of the ocean. Have you ever been to the ocean, Jules?”
Jules shakes his head.
“We should fix that someday. The ocean is magical. You’d love it.”
She’s speaking to him like he’s a person.
Not a problem to solve.
Not a case to manage.
Just a five-year-old who happens to not use words right now.
Dominic watches them paint together—Valencia narrating the process, asking Jules questions that he answers with nods and shakes and pointing, creating a conversation without verbal language.
It’s remarkable.
Jules is painting blue swirls.
Valencia is painting beside him, occasionally commenting on his work: “That’s a beautiful curve. Are you making waves?”
Jules nods enthusiastically.
Points to Valencia’s painting.
“Mine? I’m painting a sunset. See? Orange and pink and purple all mixed together. Sunsets are my favorite. What’s your favorite, Jules? Sunsets or sunrises?”
Jules points to her painting.
Sunsets, then.
Valencia smiles. “Good choice. Sunsets mean the day is done and you can rest. Peaceful.”
Dominic’s chest tightens.
When was the last time he asked Jules about his favorite anything?
When was the last time he sat on the floor and just… played?
Work has consumed him since Amelie died—easier to bury himself in code and meetings than face the reality of single parenting a traumatized child.
Valencia makes it look effortless.
After painting, she transitions to reading time.
Pulls out a picture book about dinosaurs—she must have researched Jules’s room decor and brought books specifically about his interests.
Sits on the couch with Jules tucked beside her, reading with different voices for each dinosaur character.
Jules is entranced.
Watching her face, following the pictures, occasionally pointing when something excites him.
Halfway through the book, he leans his head against her arm.
Casual affection.
Trust.
Three days and he trusts her enough for physical contact.
It took the previous nannies weeks to get that, if they got it at all.
Dominic closes his laptop.
Walks to the living room doorway.
Valencia glances up, smiles briefly, continues reading.
Doesn’t stop or change her behavior because the boss is watching.
Just keeps being present with Jules.
When the book ends, Jules notices Dominic.
Looks between his father and Valencia uncertainly.
“Daddy has to work, sweetheart,” Valencia says gently. “But maybe he can read with us later? Would you like that?”
Jules nods.
Looks at Dominic hopefully.
And Dominic realizes: his son wants him to participate.
Wants him here.
Not working.
Here.
“I can take a break,” Dominic says. “What are we reading?”
Jules scrambles off the couch, runs to his room, returns with three more dinosaur books.
Dumps them in Dominic’s lap.
Message clear: read all of these.
Valencia laughs softly. “Looks like you’re committed now.”
“Apparently.”
Dominic sits on the couch—Jules immediately climbing into his lap in a way he hasn’t done in months—and starts reading.
Valencia excuses herself to prep lunch, giving them space.
But Dominic can hear her in the kitchen, humming while she cooks.
Jules relaxes against Dominic’s chest, listening to the story about a T-Rex who’s afraid of the dark.
This.
This is what Dominic’s been missing.
Not efficiency.
Not productivity.
Just being with his son.
Present.
Engaged.
Parenting instead of managing.
Later, after lunch, after Jules goes down for quiet time, Dominic finds Valencia in the kitchen cleaning up.
“How do you do it?” he asks.
She looks up from loading the dishwasher. “Do what?”
“Reach him. I can’t.”
Valencia’s quiet for a moment, then: “You’re his dad. Not his entertainer. He doesn’t need you to be fun or creative or constantly engaging. He needs you to be present. To show up. To love him consistently.”
“I do love him—”
“I know. But do you show him? Or do you work from behind closed doors and check in occasionally to make sure he’s alive?”
It’s said gently, not accusatory.
But it lands like a punch.
Because she’s right.
Since Amelie died, Dominic’s been present physically but absent emotionally.
Easier to work than to feel.
Easier to hire help than to actually parent.
“I don’t know how to do this without her,” Dominic admits quietly.
“You learn. Same way Jules is learning to navigate the world without his mother. One day at a time. One moment at a time. One story at a time.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not simple. It’s hard. But you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try.”
Dominic studies her—this woman he hired three days ago, who’s already seen through his professional distance to the grieving father underneath.
No one’s talked to him this honestly since Amelie died.
Everyone treats him with kid gloves: the widowed billionaire, the tragic figure, the man to be pitied.
Valencia treats him like a person.
A flawed person who’s struggling but capable of better.
“Thank you,” Dominic says. “For being honest. For calling me out. For… everything you’re doing with Jules.”
“That’s my job.”
“It’s more than a job. What you did this morning—the painting, the reading, the way you just understand him—that’s not in any nanny manual.”
Valencia smiles. “I actually care about him. That helps.”
“After three days?”
“Some kids you just connect with immediately. Jules is special. Anyone can see that.”
Dominic wants to say: you’re special too.
Wants to say: thank you for bringing light back into this house.
Wants to say: please don’t quit like the others.
Instead he says: “Let me know if you need anything. To make your job easier. Supplies, schedule changes, whatever.”
“Actually,” Valencia says, “would it be okay if I took Jules to the park tomorrow? Fresh air, other kids, some socialization?”
“He doesn’t do well with other children—”
“We’ll start slow. Just observation. See how he does. If it’s too much, we come home. But he needs to be around peers eventually.”
She’s right.
Dominic’s been isolating Jules, trying to protect him.
But protection can become prison.
“Okay. Park. Just be careful—”
“I’ll watch him like a hawk. Promise.”
After she leaves to do laundry, Dominic stands in his too-clean, too-quiet kitchen and thinks about Amelie.
She would have loved Valencia.
Would have appreciated her directness, her creativity with Jules, her refusal to coddle Dominic’s grief.
The thought doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.
Grief is still there—always there—but it’s changing.
Softening.
Making room for something else.
Something like hope.
Hope that Jules will heal.
Hope that Dominic can learn to parent alone.
Hope that maybe, eventually, this house will feel like a home again instead of a mausoleum.
Valencia Rivera has been here three days.
Three days and she’s already changing everything.
Dominic doesn’t know yet how much she’ll change.
Doesn’t know he’s already started falling for her.
Doesn’t know that hiring her was the best and most complicated decision he’ll ever make.
But he will.
Soon.
When professional distance becomes impossible and he has to face the truth:
He’s falling in love with his son’s nanny.
And there’s absolutely nothing appropriate about it.
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