“My house, my rules,” my daughter-in-law said as she took back the spare key, expecting me to stay with the children while she and my son went away for the weekend.

“My house, my rules,” my daughter-in-law said as she took back the spare key, expecting me to stay with the children while she and my son went away for the weekend. I’d spent six weeks in their guest room, canceled a reunion, and paid hundreds toward their household after promising only temporary help. I picked up my suitcase, and Daniel found me walking out…

The first call came while I viewed photographs of Bali on my laptop. I’d just turned sixty-seven, and my condo was quiet in a way I’dworked hard to enjoy after my husband died. My daughter-in-law Claire’s name appeared on my phone. She rarely called me without Daniel, so I answered at once.

“Linda, I’m sorry to ask,” she said. she’d just been promoted to regional manager, their longtime nanny had quit without warning, and she was frightened that the new job would suffer before she’d had a chance to settle into it. Daniel was buried in his own work.

Would I stay with them for six weeks until they found child care? I could use

the guest room, she said, and I wouldn’t have to pay for anything. It was temporary. I looked at the open folder of Sanur beaches and green rice terraces, then at the calendar with my book club and Tuesday yoga class.

“I don’t know how we’ll get through the transition without you,” Claire said.

I loved their children, ten-year-old Ethan and eight-year-old Lucy. I also remembered how it felt to be a mother working worried that any missed pickup would be held against you. I told Claire I’d come on

Sunday. “Six weeks,” I said, and she thanked me several times.

The first two weeks were pleasant. I collected the kids from school three afternoons a week, cooked a few dinners,