The night before our first real road trip in 30 years, I got an email: CANCELED. I called my husband. ‘What happened?’ He said, ‘I canceled it. My sister needs you to watch her kids.’

Taxes.

Insurance.

Our rental properties.

His consulting invoices.

Even retirement accounts he barely remembered we had.

And Melissa had long treated me like free labor.

If her babysitter quit, she called me.

If she wanted a weekend away, she called me.

If one of the children got sick, she contacted me before their own father.

That evening, a text from her appeared.