Though I’d managed to end the situation, I was still worried about how it would affect my husband and daughter. To my surprise, when I mentioned it to them, both of them let out a sigh of relief. 

My husband said, “If we lose a little money, so be it. I’ve never wanted you to do this thankless, tiring job. The neighbors, when something goes wrong, they run far away, but when it’s time to take advantage, they’re the first to jump in. There’s no need to maintain those kinds of relationships.” 

“Exactly,” my daughter nodded. “Mom, you’ve been working so hard to cook for those kids, and they haven’t even said ‘thank you.’ They act like you’re their servant. I’ve been wanting to stop dealing with them for a long time.” 

Their words brought tears to my eyes. It turned out I wasn’t the only one who could see things clearly. 

Finally free from cooking for the neighborhood kids, I could sleep peacefully. But the next morning, I woke to commotion downstairs. 

Mrs. Peterson had propped her door open, banging pots and pans in her kitchen, letting cooking smells fill the hallway. 

That evening, the other parents started praising her cooking in our building’s Facebook group.