When my sister-in-law, Brianna, asked me to watch her kids for “just an hour,” I thought it would be a simple favor. I canceled dinner plans with my friend Kate, thinking I’d help out and be back in time to enjoy our evening. Little did I know, that one hour would turn into an all-nighter, and Brianna would show up the next morning in a bridesmaid dress like nothing had happened.
That night taught me something important—kindness without limits can lead people to take advantage, so I decided to show Brianna something she wouldn’t forget.
Sometimes, I wonder if having “doormat” tattooed on my forehead would save everyone time. That way, people like Brianna would know exactly what they’re getting when they text me at the last minute, asking for favors they don’t intend to repay.
It was the worst possible timing when I got Brianna’s text. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, finishing my makeup before heading out for dinner with Kate, my college roommate who was only in town for 24 hours.
“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 reflection. Kate and I had reservations at Harvest Table, the new farm-to-table place downtown, which had been nearly impossible to get into. I had been looking forward to it for weeks. But it was just an hour, right?
I sighed, my fingers hovering over my phone. Finally, I typed, “What time do you need to drop them off?”
The reply came almost instantly: “You’re an angel! Be there in 15!”
I texted Kate, apologizing for the delay and promising I would still make it. Then, I changed out of my dress and heels into jeans and a t-shirt. No point in risking spaghetti stains on silk.
The doorbell rang exactly 10 minutes later. Brianna stood on my doorstep, looking flawless, her hair perfect and wearing a casual yet expensive-looking blouse and jeans. Behind her, her three kids—Emma (6), Liam (4), and Zoe (2)—fidgeted impatiently on the porch steps.
“You are literally saving my life,” Brianna gushed, kissing each child on the forehead before practically skipping to her SUV. “I’ll be back before you know it!”
“Wait,” I called after her. “Where are you…?”
But she was already in her car, waving as she backed out of my driveway. I glanced at my watch: it was 3:45 p.m.
“Aunt Mia,” Emma chirped, tugging at my shirt. “Mom said you have cookies.”
I forced a smile. “Well, let’s see what we can find.”
By 5:30 p.m., my living room looked like a toy store after a hurricane. I had already texted Brianna twice, with no response. Kate had texted asking if we should push dinner back to 8:00.
“When’s Mommy coming back?” Liam asked, his lower lip trembling slightly.
“Soon,” I said, though I was starting to doubt it myself. “Hey, who wants to help me make spaghetti?”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “With the twirly noodles?”
“Is there any other kind?” I winked, hoping it would distract her.
As I boiled water and warmed 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 cleaning up tomato sauce from the kitchen floor while Zoe screamed at a baby carrot.
“It’s looking at me!” she wailed, pointing at the offending vegetable. “The carrot is scary!”
“Carrots don’t have eyes, silly,” Emma said, sounding far too wise for her age.
“THIS ONE DOES!” Zoe’s face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I picked up the carrot and bit its head off. “See? All gone. No more scary carrot.”
Zoe sniffled, unsure if my solution was acceptable. Meanwhile, my phone buzzed with a text from Kate: “Should I just get takeout and come to you?”
I texted back: “I’m so sorry. Rain check? Family emergency.”
Something cold settled in my stomach. This wasn’t an emergency. This was Brianna taking advantage… again.
By 8:30 p.m., I had completely given up on hearing from Brianna anytime soon. The kids needed baths. Liam had somehow gotten spaghetti sauce in his hair, and Zoe smelled like she’d spent the day in a hamster cage.
“Okay, bath time, troops,” I announced, 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 looked guilty. “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, as if I were the child. “Mom always brings him.”
Great. No Bubbles Bear, no bath-time peace. I scrambled through the linen closet and found an old rubber duck. “Look who I found! Ducky wants a bath!”
The rubber duck was deemed an acceptable substitute. By the time all three kids were clean, my bathroom looked like a tsunami had hit it, and I was soaked 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. Each call went 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 somewhere. Probably.
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 had me checking. 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 were realized 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 comforting words. By the time Liam fell back asleep, I was wide awake, a knot of anger growing inside me with every passing hour.
Morning came with Cheerios, cartoons, and still no word from Brianna.
The kids, somehow, were adjusting well, settling into a rhythm that required minimal intervention from their tired aunt.
At precisely 9:03 a.m., I heard a knock at the door.
When I opened it, there stood Brianna in a dusty pink bridesmaid dress, her hair slightly mussed but still perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. She carried a Starbucks cup in one hand and a small gift bag in the other.
“Oh my god, you are a literal saint,” she gushed, as if she’d just run out for milk. “The wedding went so late… then we all stayed at the hotel, and my phone died completely.”
I stared at her, speechless with disbelief. The kids swarmed their mother, chattering about scary carrots and Ducky the rubber duck.
Brianna set her coffee down and dug into the gift bag. “I got you something for being such a lifesaver.” She pulled out a glittery bath bomb, holding it up like it was some rare treasure. “It’s lavender eucalyptus! For stress!”
I took it mechanically, my mind ticking through the hours. Eighteen hours. No warning. No communication. And my payment was… a bath bomb?
“The wedding?” I managed, my voice tight with frustration.
“Oh, Melissa’s cousin’s wedding,” Brianna said, as though this explained everything. “Last-minute bridesmaid replacement. I thought I mentioned it.”
“You didn’t. You said ‘quick errand’ and ‘just an hour.'”
Brianna looked slightly embarrassed but quickly recovered. “Well, it was supposed to be quick, but you know how these things go. Anyway, you’re the best!”
She started gathering the kids’ things, clearly eager to leave. “We should probably get going. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“Yes. I DID have things to do. Last night.”
But Brianna was already ushering the kids out the door, expertly dodging my comment. “Say thank you to Aunt Mia!”
“Thank you, Aunt Mia,” they chorused.
As the door closed behind them, I looked down at the bath bomb in my hand. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
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 finished, I attached it to an email addressed to both Brianna and Danny and hit send without hesitation.
Five minutes later, my phone exploded 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 rather than family.”
“But we are family! Family helps each other out!”
“Yes, they do. 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.”
“That’s the definition of a lie of omission, Brianna.”
“You’ve always been so dramatic. Danny thinks so too.”
“Really? Then why didn’t Danny do the babysitting for free?”
There was a long silence on the other end, and it was deeply satisfying.
“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 children without a car seat, overnight bag, or the decency to call.”
I hung up before she could respond. Twenty minutes later, my phone pinged with a payment notification. Danny had sent 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 while avoiding any real conversation.
At Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house, 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 erupted in awkward laughter. Danny looked uncomfortable. Mom shot Tyler a warning glance. Brianna? She stared down 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 fateful night. Sometimes I think about using it, but I like keeping it there, a small memento from the day I finally stood up for myself.
Because life taught me a valuable lesson that day: Those who treat family like free labor shouldn’t be surprised when they receive the bill. And sometimes, the most important family member to respect is yourself.
