The Women Who Prevent Discomfort

The hidden cost of protecting others from disappointment

I came home with three salads.

My husband’s order. My son’s order. My other son’s order. Two of the salads looked nearly identical, so I did my best to sort them out and left the right ones for the right people.

A little while later my son came in and mentioned, almost casually, that he thought he’d gotten the wrong one. It didn’t really matter to him. He…