Leah stared at the security camera that she knew ran a feed right to the reception desk. They shouldn't be making her stand out here in all this rain, even though she was soaked through already, slicked with mud, a real sight, she was sure. She sucked in her breath, held it, and when she could not hold it anymore, reached for the button again. Before she pressed it, the woman's voice sounded on the PA. “I see you. Hold your horses.”

Inside, she smiled, aware that she was leaving a muddy puddle on the floor. “I'm here for Tyler.”

“You can head on back.” The woman, clearly alarmed by Leah's near-drowned appearance, picked up her phone receiver.

Leah could hardly stand the smell of the day care—sour milk, sour diapers, Lysol sprays and hand sanitizers—and today it was so cold and clammy, tantrums in the background, baby screams. The kids were as unsettled as anyone else. She could not imagine how Tyler stood it at all, and then she remembered that he didn't, not really.

When she reached the classroom, she saw Tyler alone in one corner of the room, building a large tower of blocks. Two of the other three-year-olds were coloring with their teacher, and Ms. Evers, the director, was reading to four others. When Tyler's block tower crashed to the floor, she saw Ms. Evers flash a look of annoyance. “Tyler!” she said. “Be quiet!”

Tyler was looking at the pile of blocks that had fallen. He looked so heartbroken, and Leah had to fight the urge to run in and scoop him up right away.

“Tyler,” Ms. Evers said, sternly, “did you hear me?”

The other kids at her feet looked at Tyler as though he were a mosquito, something annoying they could swat away without thinking.

And then Leah could not stand it anymore, could not bear to see her boy so lonely, so isolated, to see the adults in charge of his care modeling such uncaring behavior. She did enter the room then, sat down next to her boy, her body between him and Ms. Evers's group.

“Can I help you fix your tower?” she asked.

Tyler crawled into her lap, wrapped his tiny boy fingers in her ponytail. “You wet, Mommy.”

“Mrs. Tinker,” Ms. Evers said.

“I came to take him home because of the flood,” Leah said, “but I'm unenrolling him, as of now.”

“According to the contract, in order to unenroll him—”

Leah cut her off. “I know. Ten thousand papers to sign and some number of days you're going to charge me for anyway. I'm not doing that today. I need to get my boy out of here.”

She lifted Tyler up. It was hard to walk away with dignity, soaking wet, carrying a three-year-old and a diaper bag, but Leah tried to at least keep her chin high, to meet Ms. Evers's eyes with defiance on the way out the door. “You're not very good at your job,” she said, “if you can only manage it when it's easy.”