A week before our family trip to Rome, my sister called with her usual tone that left no room for discussion. She informed me, not asked, that I’d be watching her kids during the ten-hour flight so she could relax with her new boyfriend. After years of being her built-in babysitter, I decided enough was enough. Quietly, I used my miles to upgrade to business class and didn’t mention a word.
At the airport gate, she showed up juggling bags, a fussy baby, and two restless kids. Just as boarding began, I smiled and told her, “Oh, I’m not sitting with you—I’m in business class.” Her jaw dropped, but I simply walked away.
From my seat, I slipped on noise-canceling headphones and enjoyed a calm flight. Every so often, I caught glimpses of her through the curtain—chasing toddlers down the aisle, managing tantrums, while her boyfriend struggled to help. Meanwhile, I sipped sparkling water, stretched out in comfort, and even watched a movie without interruption.
When we landed, she looked exhausted: messy hair, stained shirt, and a stroller missing a wheel. At baggage claim, she asked if I felt guilty. I adjusted my sunglasses and told her honestly: “Not at all. For once, I felt free.”