Sometimes, the people you’d move mountains for are the same ones who hand you a shovel and expect you to dig. I learned that at 35, in my best friend’s kitchen, holding a printed chore chart with my name at the top.Claire and I have been best friends since university—over a decade of support, video calls, and visits. I flew out for her wedding, both of her kids’ births, and when she told me she was pregnant again, I didn’t hesitate to offer help.

We planned it all—I’d fly to New York, stay two weeks, and support her through the birth and recovery. I was excited. This was what real friendship looked like, I thought.But the moment I arrived, things felt off. Claire dropped the first surprise: a scheduled C-section the very next morning. I rolled with it.

The real shock came days later, when she handed me a paper outlining my “duties”—cleaning, cooking, school runs, laundry—while her husband took paternity leave to “recover,” aka hang out with friends and binge Netflix.

I felt used. I hadn’t flown across the world to be their unpaid nanny.So I booked a flight home.Claire cried. Called me selfish. Blocked me days later. Then sent one final text: “You abandoned our friendship when I needed you most.”But that friendship had already been abandoned—I just hadn’t seen it until someone handed me a to-do list and expected gratitude.Three months on, I still miss who Claire used to be. But I don’t miss proving my worth to people who only see what I can give.True friendship doesn’t come with guilt trips—or printed schedules.