Nanny, wake up!” Bridget resisted the little voice and insistent tug on her shoulder for as long as she could. Despite the fact that grey morning sunlight was streaming through her windows, she was exhausted. She had lain awake for hours, reliving the horror of the afternoon. Sleep, when it came, refused to offer any refuge. She dreamed about being in Paul’s bed, but with a nightmare twist. He was laughing at her. “Nanny?” “In a minute, Tad!” Bridget said tightly. She didn’t want to speak harshly to the child- not after what Paul had done the day before- but she couldn’t pretend to be pleased that he had woken her up. She wanted to avoid the day for as long as possible. “I’m hungry,” he whined, finally goading her into action. She reluctantly peeled herself out of bed and allowed herself to be dragged into the kitchen, pausing only long enough to throw on her robe and catch a glance of her disheveled appearance in the mirror over the dresser.
