I stared at my phone—another text from Lauren.

“Hey, can you watch the kids this weekend? Just a few hours. You’re a lifesaver!”

It was always “just a few hours,” but those hours added up. I was the reliable one, always saying yes, while Lauren and her husband lived their lives. But this time, I hesitated. My weekend was already planned.

Taking a deep breath, I finally set a boundary:

“Hey, Lauren. I love the kids, but I need to be compensated for babysitting. Hope you understand.”

Her reply came fast.

“Are you serious? They’re family. I thought you loved spending time with them.”

I did love them, but love didn’t pay for my lost weekends.

At Sunday dinner, tension filled the air. Lauren confronted me. Mom and Dad were disappointed. “Family helps family,” they insisted. But I stood my ground. “Family also respects each other’s time.”

For days, Lauren ignored me. The family group chat went silent. Then I heard she had hired a teenage neighbor instead. It stung—she’d rather pay a stranger than me.

A week later, Mom called. “Come over. We need to talk.”

At the table, Lauren accused me of making things “transactional.” I countered: “I’m making it equal.” Surprisingly, Dad agreed. Slowly, Lauren softened. “Maybe we can work something out,” she admitted.

A week later, she called. “If I need a sitter, I’ll ask in advance—and I’ll pay you.”

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step. For the first time, I wasn’t just the reliable babysitter—I was someone whose time mattered.