I was 17 when my neighbors invited me to the Caribbean for the holidays. They wanted a nanny for their five- and seven-year-olds. Simple deal: 10 days at an all-inclusive resort. I would care for the kids for seven days and nights in their room. $500 and three days to myself were my reward. Perfect, it seemed.
I worked two days and took one off, repeating. No problem, I thought. The resort included snorkeling, paddleboarding, and ziplining. I listed everything I wanted to do on my spare days and imagined myself lying on the beach with mocktails in the sun.
On the third day, they stunned me.
I casually discussed my first day off plans at breakfast. Laura, the mom, cocked her head and looked at me like I wanted to steal a bank.
“Oh,” she responded, placing her spoon midair. “We thought you’d want to see the kids. Since you’re here.”
My pleasant grin was strained. “Right, but we agreed I’d take today off.”
Dad Mike, chimed in. “Yes, but they adore you! Sticking to the schedule makes life easy for everyone.”
I peered at them, trying to understand. The ‘routine’? The ‘routine’ was our agreement—two days working, one day off. However, they suddenly treated my personal time as a recommendation.
“I understand, but I was really looking forward to exploring today,” I added gently.
Laura sighed. “You’re still paid, right?”
I blinked. Yes, but—
“So it’s not a big deal,” she remarked dismissively. “What would we do with the kids if you’re out gallivanting all day?”
I wanted to shout. Their issue, not mine. Still, I was trapped. No route home, no control over the journey, and I didn’t want to fight to spoil my vacation. So I grunted and nodded, frustrated. “Fine.”
I was fuming within.
The following several days were hell. My hours were extended with reasons like “Oh, just one more hour, please,” and “Can you take them to dinner? Tonight is our date.” My work became 24/7 babysitting. They forgot my other days off.
I was fed up by day eight.
I addressed the concierge that morning while the kids were in the resort’s activity center. I forced a grin and responded, “Hi.” “Can I book snorkeling for tomorrow?”
A concierge checked the schedule. “Absolutely! It departs at 10 a.m.”
Perfect. I wanted to have an adventure on my final full day before we departed. After signing up, I pretended everything was OK all day.
The following morning, I got up early, collected my stuff, and left silently. As I went outdoors, the seaside wind made me feel free for the first time in days. I arrived to the docks to see a small group boarding the boat.
I got a call just before I stepped on.
Laura.
I hesitated. If I responded, she’d ask where I was. She would be upset if I disregarded it. I wondered—so what? What would she do? Fire me? The following day we left.
Boarding the boat, I muted my phone.
In the following hours, I felt radically different. The pristine water was full with colorful fish. Swimming with sea turtles, I saw the light bounce off the waves like liquid gold. It fulfilled all my dreams.
I returned to multiple missed calls and messages. Angry texts began with irritation.
Where are you?
Please return by noon.
I can’t believe you vanished.
Sighing, I rolled my eyes. They were around the pool when I arrived at the resort. Laura’s face was grimaced in anger.
Standing up, she screamed, “Where were you?”
“I took the day off,” I said. Like we agreed.”
Mike sneered. “We needed you.”
Arms folded. “Not my problem.”
Laura stared at me like I cursed her family. Excuse me?
“I was hired with a contract. You ruined it. I snorkeled. Story over.”
She started to protest, but I stopped her. I left, leaving them stewing in entitlement.
The following morning, I wore my earplugs and ignored them the whole journey home. In quiet, they gave me $500 as we arrived. I accepted it, nodded politely, and left without looking back.
A week later, another neighbor told me Laura had been telling everyone how I was “so selfish” and had “abandoned” them on vacation. I was surprised no one supported them. Most said, “Didn’t she say she’d have days off?” or “That’s not fair to change the deal after she arrived.”
My character wasn’t the villain. Actually, it felt better than $500.
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