When my sister-in-law, Brianna, asked me to watch her kids for “just an hour,” I thought I was doing a good deed. I even canceled dinner plans with my best friend, Kate, to help her out. Brianna promised she’d be back quickly, but instead, she showed up the next morning in a bridesmaid dress, acting like nothing had happened.
That’s when I realized that kindness without limits only teaches people to take advantage. So, I decided to show Brianna something she wasn’t expecting.
Sometimes, I think it would save everyone time if I had the words “doormat” tattooed on my forehead. That way, people like Brianna would know exactly what they’re getting when they text me last minute for favors, expecting me to drop everything without any intention of repaying me.
The text from Brianna came at the worst possible time. I was in the middle of getting ready for dinner with Kate, my college roommate, who was in town for just 24 hours. We had reservations at a popular restaurant, Harvest Table, a place you had to book months in advance.
“Hey Mia! Quick favor? Need to run a tiny errand. Can you watch the kids for an hour? Pretty urgent, please?”
I stared at my half-done makeup in the bathroom mirror. My heart sank. Dinner with Kate was a big deal, but it was only for an hour, right? I could make it work.
I typed back, “What time do you need to drop them off?”
Her response was immediate: “You’re an angel! Be there in 15!”
I texted Kate that I’d be a little late but would make it to dinner, then changed out of my dress and heels into jeans and a t-shirt. There was no way I was risking spaghetti stains on silk.
The doorbell rang exactly 10 minutes later. Brianna stood there, looking put-together, her hair perfect and wearing a casual but expensive-looking blouse and jeans. Behind her, her three kids—Emma (6), Liam (4), and Zoe (2)—fidgeted on the porch.
“You are literally saving my life,” Brianna gushed, giving each child a quick kiss on the forehead before practically skipping toward her car. “I’ll be back before you know it!”
I opened my mouth to ask where she was going, but she was already backing out of my driveway, waving from her SUV. I glanced at my watch: it was 3:45 p.m.
“Aunt Mia,” Emma chirped, tugging on my shirt. “Mom said you have cookies.”
I looked down at their hopeful faces and forced a smile. “Well, let’s see what we can find.”
By 5:30 p.m., my living room looked like a toy store had exploded. I’d texted Brianna twice and received no response. Kate had texted, asking if we should push dinner back to 8:00.
“When’s Mommy coming back?” Liam asked, his lip trembling slightly.
“Soon,” I said, though my own doubt was growing. “Hey, who wants to help me make spaghetti?”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “With the twirly noodles?”
“Is there any other kind?” I grinned, grateful for the distraction.
As I boiled water and warmed up sauce, I tried calling Brianna again. Straight to voicemail. I left a message: “Hey, just checking when you might be back. The kids are fine, but I had plans tonight…”
By 6:45 p.m., I was wiping spaghetti sauce off my kitchen floor while Zoe screamed at a baby carrot.
“It’s looking at me!” she wailed, pointing at the orange vegetable on her plate. “The carrot is scary!”
“Carrots don’t have eyes, silly,” Emma said with all the authority of a six-year-old.
“THIS ONE DOES!” Zoe shrieked, tears pouring down her cheeks.
I picked up the offending carrot and bit its head off. “See? All gone. No more scary carrot.”
Zoe sniffled, watching me with wide eyes before considering my solution. Meanwhile, my phone buzzed with another text from Kate: “Should I just get takeout and come to you?”
I replied, “I’m so sorry. Rain check? Family emergency.”
A cold, hard feeling settled in my stomach as I sent the message. This wasn’t an emergency; this was Brianna taking advantage of me… again.
By 8:30 p.m., I’d given up hope of hearing from Brianna anytime soon. The kids needed baths. Liam had somehow gotten spaghetti sauce in his hair, and Zoe smelled like she’d been rolling around in a hamster cage.
“Okay, bath time, troops,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
“But Mom always lets us stay up late!” Emma protested.
I raised an eyebrow. “Interesting, but you’ve never stayed overnight here before.”
Emma’s guilty look confirmed my suspicion. “Fine. But I need Bubbles Bear for bath time.”
“Who’s Bubbles Bear?”
Three horrified faces stared back at me.
“He’s… he’s for the bath,” Liam explained slowly, like I was the one who needed help understanding. “Mom always brings him.”
Great. No Bubbles Bear, no bath time peace. I dug through my linen closet and found an old rubber duck. “Look who I found! Ducky wants a bath!”
The rubber duck was deemed acceptable. By the time all three kids were clean, my bathroom looked like a tsunami had hit, and I was drenched from head to toe.
As I tucked them into my guest room bed, Emma looked up at me with serious eyes. “Is Mommy coming back tonight?”
My heart twisted. “Of course she is, sweetie. She’s just… running late.”
“Okay. Night, Aunt Mia.”
I tried calling Brianna four more times before midnight. Straight to voicemail. I texted my brother, Danny, too: “Hey, do you know where Brianna is? She left the kids with me hours ago.”
No response from him either. They were together, wherever they were.
I made a bed on the couch, knowing I wouldn’t sleep. Every creak of the house and every small sound from the kids’ room made me jump up to check. What if Zoe fell out of bed? What if Liam had a nightmare? What if Emma needed water?
At 2:13 a.m., my fears came true when small footsteps padded into the living room.
“Aunt Mia?” Liam’s voice quavered in the dark. “I threw up.”
The next hour was a blur of clean sheets, ginger ale, and reassurances. By the time Liam fell back asleep, I was wide awake, a knot of anger tightening in my chest with every passing minute.
Morning came with Cheerios, cartoons, and still no word from Brianna.
The kids, surprisingly resilient, settled into a play rhythm that required little from their exhausted aunt.
At exactly 9:03 a.m., I heard a knock on the door. I opened it to find Brianna in a dusty pink bridesmaid dress, her hair slightly mussed and full makeup still intact. She was holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and a small gift bag in the other.
“Oh my god, you are a literal saint,” she said, as if she’d just gone out for milk. “The wedding went so late… then we all stayed at the hotel, and my phone died completely.”
I stood there, stunned. The kids rushed to their mother, chattering about scary carrots and Ducky the rubber duck.
Brianna set her coffee down and rummaged through the gift bag. “I got you something for being such a lifesaver.” She pulled out a glittery bath bomb and handed it to me, like it was the most precious thing in the world. “It’s lavender eucalyptus! For stress!”
I took the bath bomb mechanically, my mind racing with calculations. Eighteen hours. No warning. No communication. And my “payment” was a bath bomb?
“The wedding?” I finally asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “What wedding?”
“Oh, Melissa’s cousin’s wedding,” Brianna explained, as if that was all I needed to know. “I thought I mentioned it.”
“You didn’t. You said ‘quick errand’ and ‘just an hour.’”
Brianna shifted uncomfortably but didn’t apologize. “Well, it was supposed to be quick, but you know how these things go. Anyway, you’re the best!”
She quickly gathered her kids’ things and ushered them toward the door. “We should probably get going. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“Yes. I DID have things to do. Last night,” I muttered under my breath.
But Brianna was already ushering the kids out the door, expertly dodging my comment. “Say thank you to Aunt Mia!”
“Thank you, Aunt Mia,” the kids chorused.
As the door clicked shut behind them, I looked down at the bath bomb in my hand. It felt heavier than I’d expected.
That afternoon, I sat down at my computer and created an invoice. I itemized every hour, every meal, and every inconvenience with cold precision. When I was done, I attached it to an email addressed to Brianna and Danny and hit send without a second thought.
Five minutes later, my phone rang with Brianna’s ringtone.
“Have you lost your mind?” she screeched. “$620?? For watching your nieces and nephew?”
“For watching them overnight with no notice,” I corrected. “For canceling my plans. For being up with a sick child at 2 a.m. For being treated like free labor instead of family.”
“But we are family! Family helps each other out!”
“Yes, they do,” I agreed. “Family also respects each other’s time and doesn’t lie about ‘quick errands’ when they’re actually attending out-of-town weddings.”
“I didn’t lie! I just… didn’t tell you everything.”
“Brianna, that’s called a lie of omission.”
“You’re always so dramatic. Danny thinks so too.”
“Really? Then why didn’t Danny do the babysitting for free?”
There was a long, satisfying silence on the other end.
“This isn’t over,” Brianna finally said, her voice cold. “You’ve made things really awkward.”
“No, Brianna. You did that when you dropped off three kids without car seats, overnight bags, or the decency to call.”
I hung up before she could respond. Twenty minutes later, I got a notification that Danny had paid the full amount, plus a $30 tip.
A few weeks later, I saw Brianna at a family gathering. We’d perfected the art of polite distance, exchanging pleasantries but avoiding any real conversation.
At Thanksgiving dinner, my cousin Tyler raised his glass with a smirk. “Hey, who’s watching the kids during the football game? Better check Mia’s rates first!”
The table burst into awkward laughter. Danny shifted uncomfortably. My mom shot Tyler a warning look. Brianna stared at her plate, pushing the turkey around with her fork.
I just smiled and took a sip of wine. The bath bomb still sits unused on my bathroom shelf, a glittery reminder of that night. Sometimes I think about using it, but I like keeping it there—a small memento of the day I finally stood up for myself.
Life taught me an important lesson that day: Those who treat family like free labor shouldn’t be surprised when they get the bill. And sometimes, the most important family member to respect is yourself.
