My SIL Asked Me to Watch Her Kids for an Hour—Then Came Back the Next Morning Wearing a Bridesmaid Dress
When I was asked to keep my sister-in-law’s children for “just an hour,” I had to cancel my dinner reservation with a friend.
As if nothing had happened, she only appeared the following morning wearing a bridesmaid dress. I showed her something else after realising that unrestrained charity taught entitled people the wrong lessons.
I sometimes wonder if I should just get the word “doormat” tattooed on my forehead to save everyone the trouble of figuring it out. People like my sister-in-law, Brianna, who ask for favors they never plan to return, would at least know exactly what they’re dealing with when they text me at the worst possible moments. And of course, that’s exactly what happened.
My phone lit up with a text from Brianna at the most inconvenient time. Kate, my college roommate, who had flown in for a whirlwind 24-hour visit, was just about to head out for dinner. We’d been planning this for months.
“Hey Mia! Quick favor? I’ve got a small errand to run and need you to watch the kids for an hour. It’s kind of urgent, please!”
I sighed as I stared at my half-done mascara in the bathroom mirror. We had reservations at Harvest Table, the trendy new farm-to-table place downtown. But it was just an hour, right? “What time do you need to drop them off?” I typed, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.
Her reply came in almost immediately: “You’re an angel! Be here in 15 minutes!”
I texted Kate, letting her know I’d be a little late but still on my way to dinner. Then I swapped my dress and high heels for jeans and a t-shirt. No point in risking spaghetti stains on silk.
Just ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Brianna stood there, her hair perfectly in place, wearing expensive-looking casual clothes. Behind her, her three kids—Zoe, 2, Liam, 4, and Emma, 6—fidgeted on my porch steps, barely containing their energy.
Brianna kissed each child on the forehead and nearly bolted toward her SUV. “You’re literally saving my life,” she said, her voice almost breathless. “I’ll be back before you know it!” I shouted after her, “Wait, where are you…?”
But she was already backing out of my driveway, locking the door, and waving as she disappeared down the street. I glanced at the clock—3:45 p.m.
Emma piped up, tugging at my shirt. “Aunt Mia, Mom said you have cookies.” I forced a smile as I looked down at their wide-eyed faces. “Well, let’s see what we can find.”
By 5:30 p.m., my living room resembled a toy store after a tornado. I’d sent Brianna two texts, but no response. Kate had messaged earlier asking if we could push dinner to 8:00.
“When’s Mommy coming back?” Liam asked, his lower lip trembling a bit. “Soon,” I replied, though I was starting to wonder myself. “Hey, who wants to help me make spaghetti?”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “With the twirly noodles?” As I began warming the sauce and boiling the water, I tried calling Brianna. Straight to voicemail. “Hey, just checking when you might be back,” I texted. “I had plans for the evening, but the kids are fine.”
By 6:45 p.m., Zoe was in full meltdown mode over an orange vegetable while I scrubbed tomato sauce off the kitchen floor.
“Is there any other kind?” I asked, glad for the distraction. I winked at her, trying to keep the chaos at bay.
Zoe screamed, pointing at a young carrot on her plate, “It’s looking at me! The carrot’s scary!”
Emma, in all her six-year-old wisdom, shot back, “Carrots don’t have eyes, silly.”
“THIS ONE DOES!” Zoe’s face crumpled as tears began to streak down her cheeks. I quickly snatched the offending carrot and bit off its head. “See? Everything’s gone. No more scary carrots.”
Zoe sniffed, eyeing the now-headless vegetable as if trying to decide if it was a suitable fix. My phone buzzed with a text from Kate. “Should I just get takeaway and come to you?”
I sighed and typed back, “I’m really sorry. Is there a rain check? Family emergency.” A cold, heavy knot formed in my stomach as I hit send. There was no emergency. Once again, Brianna was taking advantage of me.
By 8:30 p.m., I had completely given up on hearing from my sister-in-law. The kids were long overdue for baths—Zoe smelled like she’d been rolling in a hamster cage, and somehow, Liam had managed to get spaghetti sauce in his hair.
“Alright, bath time, troops!” I tried to sound cheerful, but my voice cracked under the weight of the evening.
“But Mom always lets us stay up late!” Emma protested, arms crossed as she shot me a defiant look.
I raised an eyebrow. “Interesting, but you’ve never stayed overnight here before.” Emma’s guilty expression confirmed my suspicions. “Alright, but Bubbles Bear is a must during bath time.”
“Who’s Bubbles Bear?” I asked, only to be met with three wide-eyed, terrified faces. Liam carefully spoke up, as if explaining something elementary, “He’s… he’s for the bath,” as though I were the child. “Mom always brings him.”
Great. No Bubbles Bear, no peace during bath time. I rummaged through the linen closet and pulled out an old rubber duck. “Look what I found! Ducky wants a bath!” I said with forced cheer.
The rubber duck was deemed a suitable substitute. By the time all three were clean, I was soaked, and my bathroom looked like it had been hit by a tsunami. As I tucked them into the guest room bed, Emma gave me a serious look.
“Is Mommy coming back tonight?”
My heart twisted. “She is, sweetheart. She’s just running late.”
“Okay. Good night, Aunt Mia.”
Before midnight, I’d made four more attempts to call Brianna. Each time, it went straight to voicemail. I texted my brother Danny: “Hey, do you know where Brianna is? She left the kids with me hours ago.”
No response. It dawned on me that wherever Brianna was, she and Danny were together.
Realizing I wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, I made a bed on the couch. Every little noise from the kids’ room made me jump—what if Zoe slipped out of bed? What if Liam had a nightmare? What if Emma needed a drink of water?
My worst fears were confirmed at 2:13 a.m. when I heard tiny footsteps padding into the living room. “Aunt Mia?” Liam’s voice quivered in the dark. “I threw up.”
The next hour was a blur of clean linens, ginger ale, and soft reassurances. By the time Liam finally drifted back to sleep, I was wide awake, a growing knot of rage tightening in my chest with every passing minute.
The morning arrived with cartoons and Cheerios, but Brianna still hadn’t replied. The kids, impressively resilient, managed to fall into a play routine that didn’t require much from their exhausted aunt, who now resembled something between a zombie and a caffeine-deprived shell of herself.
Just as I thought I couldn’t take another second of the chaos, I heard a knock at 9:03 a.m.
I opened the door to find Brianna standing there in a dusty pink bridesmaid dress, her makeup flawless and her expertly styled hair slightly mussed. In one hand, she held a tiny gift bag, and in the other, a Starbucks cup. “Oh my god, you are a literal saint,” she exclaimed, as if she’d just popped out to grab some milk. “The wedding went so late… then we all stayed at the hotel, and my phone completely died.”
I stared at her, in complete disbelief. The kids were already gathered around her, eagerly telling her all about Ducky, the bear substitute, and the terrifying carrot incident.
She set down her coffee and pulled out the tiny gift bag. “I got you something for being such a lifesaver,” she said with a grin. She pulled out a glittering bath bomb, holding it up like it was some kind of priceless treasure. “It’s eucalyptus lavender! For the sake of stress!”
My brain went into overdrive, calculating how many hours had passed. Eighteen. Eighteen hours, no warning, no messages exchanged, and all I got in return was a bath bomb. I took it from her automatically, trying to mask the fury that was bubbling just beneath the surface.
“The wedding?” Finally, I found my voice. “What wedding?”
Brianna shrugged, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Oh, Melissa’s cousin’s wedding,” she explained, her tone dismissive as though that clarified everything. “Bridesmaid replacement at the last minute. I thought I had mentioned it.”
“You didn’t. You mentioned ‘just an hour’ and ‘quick errand.’”
Brianna, to her credit, looked a little sheepish for a moment. “Well, you know how these things go. But it was supposed to be brief. In any case, you’re the greatest.” With practiced efficiency, she began collecting the scattered belongings of her children. “I think we should get going. You’ve probably got things to do.”
“Yes. I did have tasks to complete. Last night.” My voice was dry, but Brianna was already expertly dodging my words as she ushered the kids toward the door.
“Say thank you to Aunt Mia!” she called out, and the children obediently chorused, “Thank you, Aunt Mia.”
I stared at the bath bomb in my hand as the door clicked shut behind them. It felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds.
Later that afternoon, I sat down at my computer and began to type up an invoice. I carefully listed every meal I’d prepared, every hour spent, every interruption and inconvenience. When I was finished, I clicked “submit” and attached the invoice to an email, sending it off to both Danny and Brianna.
My phone lit up with Brianna’s ringtone a mere five minutes later.
“Have you lost your mind?” she screamed, her voice shrill. “$620? For watching your nieces and nephews?”
I took a deep breath and calmly clarified, “For watching them overnight with no notice. For putting my plans on hold. For waking up at two in the morning with a sick child. For not being treated like family, but as free labor.”
“But we’re related! Family members support each other,” she shot back.
“They do. And family members respect each other’s time, Brianna. They don’t lie about running ‘quick errands’ when they’re actually attending weddings out of town.”
“I told the truth! I just didn’t tell you everything,” she defended herself.
“That’s called a lie of omission, Brianna.”
She scoffed. “You’ve always had a lot of drama. Danny agrees with me.”
“Really? Then why didn’t Danny offer to watch the kids for free?”
There was a long, satisfying silence on the other end.
When Brianna finally picked up, her voice was icy. “This isn’t over. You’ve made things really awkward.”
“No, Brianna. When you dropped off three kids without a car seat, an overnight bag, or the decency to call, you did that,” I shot back.
Before she could respond, I ended the call.
Twenty minutes later, a payment notification popped up on my phone. Danny had sent the full amount, plus an extra $30 as a tip.
A few weeks later, I ran into Brianna at a family get-together. We exchanged polite pleasantries, the kind that allow us to maintain the perfect art of distance without actually having a conversation.
At Thanksgiving dinner with my parents, my cousin Tyler raised his glass with a grin. “Hey, who’s keeping an eye on the kids while the game’s on? Might want to check Mia’s pricing first.”
An uncomfortable laugh rippled through the table. Danny shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Mom shot Tyler a warning look. Brianna, meanwhile, pushed her turkey around on her plate, staring down at her dish with a quiet intensity.
I simply took a sip of wine and grinned. Like a glittering memento of that unforgettable night, the bath bomb still sits unused on my bathroom shelf. I keep it there as a reminder of the day I finally stood up for myself, though sometimes, I think about using it.
That day taught me a valuable lesson: People who treat their families like free labor shouldn’t be surprised when they get the bill. And sometimes, you have to respect yourself more than you respect any other family member.
