The woman I dismissed was called Yolanda Price. She was in her early forties, soft spoken, unfailingly respectful, and so consistent in her routine that I barely noticed her presence until the day I decided she no longer belonged under my roof. She had been responsible for the housekeeping in my San Diego residence for nearly three years, managing the cleaning, the laundry, and often stepping in to help with my twin boys, Tyler and Owen, when schedules collapsed and exhaustion won. To me, she was efficient background noise, nothing more.