The First “Small Favor”
It started innocently enough.
“Mom, you’re not working anymore,” my son Javier said one afternoon, leaning casually against my kitchen counter. “You have all the time in the world. What’s a few hours watching the kids?”
I smiled. Because that’s what mothers do.
“Of course,” I said. And I meant it.
I loved my grandchildren. They were bright, full of life, and reminded me of the years when my own children were small—before life became complicated.
At first, it was just once or twice a week. A morning here. An afternoon there. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
