Nothing came.
I found out from my cousin that Lauren had hired a teenage neighbor to babysit. A 16-year-old with no real experience. It shouldn’t have mattered to me. I should have just let it go. But the truth was, it stung.
That Friday, my phone rang. It was Mom.
“We need to talk. Come over.”
The weight in her voice told me everything. This wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.
When I arrived, Lauren was already there, arms crossed, her whole posture screaming I’m right, and you’re wrong. She didn’t even look at me as I walked in.
Mom and Dad sat at the kitchen table, their faces serious. Dad had his hands folded in front of him like he was bracing for impact. Mom let out a sigh before speaking.
“This family is falling apart over money,” she said, shaking her head. “And it’s ridiculous.”
Lauren scoffed, finally looking up at me.
“It’s not even about the money. It’s about how you’re treating us like strangers. Like we have to pay you just to be an aunt.”
“That’s not fair, Lauren. I’ve been there every single time you needed me. No questions, no complaints. And the first time I ask for something in return, I’m suddenly the bad guy?”
Her jaw clenched. “You’re making it transactional.”
“No,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I’m making it equal.”
For the first time, something flickered in her eyes—hesitation, doubt.
Dad cleared his throat, his voice calm but firm.
“Emma’s not wrong. If she were working at a daycare or nannying, she’d be paid. Why should it be different just because it’s family?”
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