My children used my house as a free daycare, until the day I said enough and left without warning.
—Mom, you don’t work anymore, you have all the time in the world. What’s it to you to look after the children for a couple of hours?
That phrase was the beginning of the end of my peace of mind.
My name is Marta. I am 66 years old and I worked for three decades in a post office to earn the right to a peaceful old age. I dreamed of sleeping in, tending my garden, and reading the books I had accumulated over the years.
But my children, Javier and Lucía, had other plans.
As soon as I received my retirement letter, my house ceased to be my refuge and became an extension of their lives. Javier would arrive at 7 a.m., before leaving for work, and leave his two children with me “just for a little while.” Lucía, on the other hand, would stop by in the afternoon and leave the youngest with me because she was very stressed at the office and needed to go to the gym or have coffee with friends.
What started as an occasional favor became a daily obligation. They no longer asked if I could; they simply showed up at the door with backpacks, diapers, and a list of instructions on what the children should eat.
I love them, they’re my grandchildren, but my body no longer has the energy of a 20-year-old woman. My back ached, my plants were dying, and my house was always full of toys and crumbs.
The real problem wasn’t the children, but my children’s audacity.
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