When Help Became Expectation
But slowly… quietly… something shifted.
The “Can you?” turned into “I’ll drop them off.” The “Are you free?” became silence—because they stopped asking.
Javier began arriving every morning at exactly 7 a.m. No warning. No hesitation. Just a quick knock, followed by:
“Mom, I’m running late!”
And before I could even respond, two children, backpacks, and a diaper bag were placed inside my home like packages being delivered.
Lucía wasn’t much different. She came in the afternoons, exhausted from work.
“I just need a break, Mom,” she’d say, already handing me her youngest child. “I’ll pick him up later.”
Later. That word began to lose all meaning.
My home—my peaceful little sanctuary—slowly disappeared.
Toys covered the floor. Crumbs lived permanently under the table. Sticky fingerprints decorated every surface.
My plants—my beautiful plants—began to wilt from neglect. I barely had time to water them, let alone care for them properly.
My back ached constantly. My knees protested every time I bent down to pick up another toy.
And yet… every day, it continued.
