I Retired to Rest, Then My Daughter Drafted Me Into Motherhood Again

say. “Not five. And not ten hours a day. I need boundaries.”

Jessica stares like I just spoke a foreign language.

“Three days,” she repeats. “Mom—”

“Three,” I say again, firmer. “And if you need more, you have to find something else. A program. A sitter. A split schedule. Something.”

Jessica’s face contorts. “We can’t afford a sitter.”

I nod. “Then you continue reading …