Part 1Our Young Nanny Doesn't Know Her Boundaries

In the middle of the night, I opened my eyes and realized my husband wasn’t by my side.

I stepped out of the bedroom and searched the house, but there was no sign of him.

As I neared the nanny's room, I heard my husband's voice inside.

My name is Lauren Murphy, I’m 28 years old, and my husband, Eric Murphy, and I both work at St. Luke’s Medical Center, Chicago.

I’m the head nurse, and Eric is the senior consultant and professor.

We’ve been married for over four years, and our relationship is still great. He’s gentle, polite, and incredibly good-looking, plus he treats me with such care. No matter how busy we are, every year on Valentine’s Day or our anniversary, he never fails to send a bouquet of flowers to my station at the hospital.

My coworkers always gather around to tease me, saying how lucky I am to have married such a perfect husband.

I basked in their admiration, feeling like I was living in a sweet, blissful bubble.

The only thing missing from our otherwise perfect marriage was a child. After a miscarriage early in our marriage, I hadn’t gotten pregnant again.

I knew Eric really wanted a baby, too. When I was pregnant, he searched everywhere for prenatal vitamins and even hired a young nanny to help take care of me.

I always felt guilty about the miscarriage, but Eric comforted me, saying it was okay. He even helped me take both herbal and prescription medications to help me recover.

Unfortunately, after taking those medicines, my body started to change. I began to gain weight, and stretch marks spread across my skin, but I trusted Eric completely. I thought if it meant we could have a baby, it would all be worth it.

Five years ago, Eric was a graduate student working under my father, Dr. Howard Preston, who is the hospital’s chief physician.

That was during my final year at nursing school, and my father arranged for me to intern at his hospital. The first time I saw Eric, I was immediately drawn to him.

Not only was he handsome, but his manners were impeccable, and he carried himself with a quiet, sophisticated charm.

I learned from my father that Eric came from a modest background—he grew up in a small town, and he was the only one from his village to go to college.

Instead of feeling superior, I admired him even more. His humble, refined demeanor only made me appreciate him further. To me, he was like a lone flower blooming in a harsh winter landscape.

I was too shy to ask for his number, even though I was attracted to him. All I could do was make excuses to visit my father’s department, hoping to steal a few glances at Eric.

To my surprise, Eric was the one who asked for my number, and after that, he started inviting me out to dinner, the movies, and shopping trips.

Our relationship deepened with each date, and eventually, Eric confessed his feelings for me. I accepted, overwhelmed with happiness, thinking I was the luckiest woman in the world.

But now, everything has crumbled.

The "perfect gentleman" I thought I knew? It was all a damn act.