I looked at her.
“You were going to pull them out of daycare?”
“I thought we could save the money if you watched them. Todd and I would both be able to work longer hours, and we could catch up on our bills.”
“You never asked me whether I wanted to do that.”
“I know.”
“And you told your boss you might be able to work Fridays?”
She nodded.
“I thought it would help everybody.”
I placed the email on the table.
“Michelle, I love those children more than I can explain. But I am not a daycare center. Some days I can help. Other days I might want to take a long walk, read a book, or sit on my porch and watch the trucks.”
“I know.”
“No, honey. You know it now. That’s different.”
She let out a shaky breath.
“You’re right.”
I studied my daughter for a long moment. She was thirty-nine years old, with a mortgage, a husband, two children, and a life full of responsibilities I had never carried for her. I could see how tired she was. I could also see the little girl who once climbed into my bed during thunderstorms because she believed I could keep the whole world away.
