My Mother Refused to Pay My 13-Year-Old for Six Weeks of Work. Forty-Eight Hours Later, the Labor Board Knocked.

She gets breaks. She eats. Understood?”

“Understood,” Jennifer said, already half-tuned out.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she answered, not quite meeting my eyes.

The first week, I tried to relax. Every afternoon, Maya would come home smelling like warm sugar and yeast, cheeks flushed, hair frizzed from the heat of the ovens. She’d burst through the door and continue reading …