When my sister-in-law Brianna texted asking me to watch her three kids for “just an hour,” I canceled dinner plans with a friend and said yes. She dropped them off with a big smile — and never came back that night. By bedtime, I was knee-deep in spaghetti stains, toddler tantrums, and a 2 a.m. puke cleanup. I called and texted her repeatedly, but she didn’t answer.

The next morning, at 9 a.m., she finally waltzed in — wearing a bridesmaid dress, Starbucks in hand, acting like nothing had happened. “You’re a saint,” she gushed, handing me a glittery bath bomb as thanks. That was the last straw. That afternoon, I sent her and my brother an invoice: every hour, every meal, every ounce of stress — totaling $620.

Her shocked call came minutes later: “Are you insane? Family doesn’t charge family!” “No,” I said calmly. “Family doesn’t lie about a quick errand and disappear overnight.” She hung up furious, but an hour later, my brother paid the invoice — plus a $30 tip.

Now, the unused bath bomb sits on my bathroom shelf as a reminder: kindness without boundaries isn’t kindness — it’s permission to be used. And I’m done being used.