You might ask her whether she needs staff.”

There was a long, appalled silence.

But my suggestion turned out to be their only option, and so, for the next four days, in the tropical heat, my husband — who had flown to Mexico to be waited on — washed industrial dishware and hauled heavy bags of hotel linen.

Chloe, who had come to film herself relaxing by an infinity pool, was put on room-cleaning duty.

And Evelyn, who had spent years instructing me on how a proper wife supports her husband’s family, was set to folding laundry in a hot back room.

They earned their meals and their beds by the sweat of their own labor, which is a thing all three of them had spent a great deal of energy, over the years, ensuring they never had to do.