“How were they?” she’d ask breezily, not even looking at me as she gathered their stuff.
“Fine,” I’d say, because what else could I say? That Tyler had another accident because I couldn’t get him to the bathroom in time during a client call? That Marcus had dumped an entire box of cereal on the floor and then walked through it, spreading crumbs through three rooms? And I’d eaten crackers and string cheese for lunch because I didn’t have time to make anything else?
I tried setting boundaries. I really did.
“Daphna, can you please text me first?” I asked one evening when she came to pick them up.
“Sure, sure,” she said, scrolling through her phone. “Hey, did I tell you about this new guy I’m seeing? His name’s Matt and he’s…”
“I’m serious,” I interrupted. “I need advance notice.”
She looked up, surprised. “Amy, it’s not like you have anywhere to be. You work from home.”
There it was. The assumption that working from home meant I was just sitting around in my pajamas watching Netflix all day, waiting for something to do.
“I have meetings and deadlines… and a job.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I know, I know. But it’s flexible, right? That’s the whole point of working from home.”
The following week, I sent her a text on Tuesday morning: “Can’t watch the boys today. I have a big client presentation at nine.”
At 5:35 a.m. the next morning, my doorbell rang.
I didn’t even get out of bed. I just texted her: “Daphna, I told you I can’t today.”
My phone buzzed with a reply: “Quick favor. Promise it’s the last time. PLEASE. I’ll make it up to you.”
It was never the last time.
Last week, things escalated. Tyler spilled an entire container of strawberry yogurt onto my laptop keyboard while I was in the bathroom. The keys stopped working. Strawberry goop seeped between the letters. I had to use my phone to finish a project that was due that afternoon.
The same day, Marcus found dry-erase markers in my desk drawer and decorated my living room wall with colorful hearts. Blue, red, green, and orange scribbles covered the section.
“What happened here?” I asked, staring at the damage.
Marcus looked proud. “I made art! Auntie said she likes color.”
“When did I say that?”
“You wear colorful shirts.”
I couldn’t even argue with six-year-old logic.
The next morning, I missed a crucial call with a potential client because Tyler was having a meltdown over the “wrong” cup. He wanted the blue one. I’d given him the green one. Apparently, this was an unforgivable offense that required 20 minutes of screaming.
When I finally called the client back, they’d already gone with someone else.
That account would’ve been worth $2,000.
That evening, I confronted Daphna when she came to collect the boys.
“We need to talk,” I said, blocking the doorway.
She checked her watch. “Can it wait? Matt’s taking me to dinner, and I need to…”
“No, it can’t wait.” My voice came out sharper than I had intended. “This has to stop. I’ve lost work. My laptop’s ruined. My walls are destroyed. I can’t keep doing this.”
Daphna’s expression shifted from rushed to annoyed. “Seriously? They’re your nephews, Amy.”
“I know they’re my nephews. That’s not the point.”
“Family helps family,” she said, like she was explaining something simple to a child. “You’re single. Your time’s flexible.”
That word. Flexible. Like my life was made of rubber, able to stretch and bend to accommodate whatever she needed.
“My time isn’t free,” I argued. “I work. I have clients and deadlines.”
She laughed. “Come on. You’re on your computer in pajamas. It’s not like you’re in an office.”
“That doesn’t mean…”
“Look, I appreciate your help. I do. But you’re making this into a bigger deal than it is. It’s a few hours in the morning.”
“Every morning, Daphna. Every single morning for three months. I admit that I’d volunteered to help. But that doesn’t mean…”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what? Fine. I’ll figure something else out.”
Relief flooded through me. Finally, she was listening.
But on Friday morning at 5:20 a.m., my doorbell rang.
I opened the door. Same boys. Same pajamas. But this time, Daphna didn’t even get out of the car.
She rolled down her window. “Romantic getaway weekend with Matt! Leaving straight from work. The boys can stay until tonight. You’re the best!”
“Daphna, wait…”
But she was already gone, taillights fading into the pre-dawn darkness.
I stood there in my doorway, Marcus and Tyler looking up at me with sleepy eyes. Behind me, my untouched coffee sat on the counter. My laptop, with its new replacement keyboard that I’d paid for, waited on my desk. My calendar showed three meetings scheduled for the day.
I wasn’t angry anymore. Anger required energy, and I had none left.
I was just done.
“Come on, boys,” I said softly. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”
But while they ate their cereal and cookies, I did something different.