By the third year the arrangement had settled into something permanent. My husband’s mother and sister had moved in temporarily, a word that stretched across seasons. The apartment had been mine before the marriage. Mortgage, fees, utilities, groceries, and every household supply still came from my account. Their coats filled the entry, their preferences filled the refrigerator, and gratitude slowly disappeared. I adjusted so gradually I barely noticed how completely the household had expanded around me.

The afternoon everything shifted, our babysitter canceled and I had a short meeting. I asked my mother-in-law if she could watch our son for half an hour. She looked up from her phone and said calmly, “Three hundred dollars. My time isn’t free.” There was no humor in her face. I made other arrangements with a neighbor. That evening I told my husband. He frowned and asked whether I had thought his mother was free help. The ease of the question told me more than the words.