That August conversation should’ve been my first warning sign.
We were sitting on my front porch, iced tea sweating in our hands, when Daphna brought up her childcare situation.
“I’m so stressed about daycare,” she said, picking at the label on her glass. “They close randomly for training days, and I can’t keep missing work. My boss is already on my case.”
I pitied her. Being a single mom couldn’t be easy.
“I could help out occasionally,” I offered. “When you’re really in a bind.”
Her face lit up. “Really? Amy, that would be amazing. Just now and then when I’m stuck.”
“Occasionally,” I repeated, emphasizing the word. “Like emergency situations.”
“Of course! Just emergencies.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’re the best sister ever. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I should’ve gotten that in writing.
