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"Margaret, my maternity leave ends next month. Could you come over during the day to help me look after Lily? Only for a month," I said. I stood in my mother-in-law's living room, holding my three-month-old daughter in my arms. Margaret Carter sat on the couch with her legs crossed, the TV blaring in the background. She didn't even look up. "How many times do I have to say it? Taking care of the baby is your responsibility. It's not my job," she said. I opened my mouth. "But David's salary alone can't cover a nanny—" "If you can't pay for one, then do it yourself. It's your choice to have a kid, so deal with it," she snapped. My daughter, Lily Carter, started crying in my arms. I gently soothed her and took a step back. "Then what if I quit my job and take care of her at home?" I asked. Margaret finally glanced at me, crunching on a snack. "Do whatever you want. Don't bother me," she said. I nodded and turned to leave. When the door closed behind me, I heard her talking on the phone. "Jessica, what brand of formula does Max use? I'll swing by tomorrow and help out with the baby for a few days," she said. I stood in the hallway, frozen. Lily was still crying in my arms. I looked down at her rosy little face and managed a smile. "It's alright, Lily. Mommy's got you," I whispered. Six years later, Margaret ended up lying in the hospital bed. When she saw me walk in, her eyes lit up. "Emma, you're here. My leg's killing me. Brian and Jessica are busy, and you've got nothing going on lately—" she said. I set the fruit basket down on the table. "Margaret, go ask your younger son for help," I said. "It's not my job."