My sister has always assumed that because I’m single and child-free, I’m on-call to care for her kids whenever she needs a break even if that means during a 10-hour international flight. A week before our trip to Rome, she announced (not asked) that I’d be babysitting her children on the plane. She didn’t consider my feelings, my plans, or the fact that I’d done it a dozen times before. This time, though, I had a different idea.

Instead of arguing, I quietly upgraded myself to business class using frequent flyer miles. I didn’t tell her I let her assume we’d be seated together as she planned romantic time with her new boyfriend while I wrangled a baby and a hyper five-year-old. At the airport, I dropped the truth like a bomb: I’d be relaxing up front while she handled her own kids for once. She lost it at the gate, but I smiled, scanned my boarding pass, and walked away.

From the comfort of my spacious business class seat, I sipped champagne, napped undisturbed, and watched a movie in peace. The contrast between our experiences was stark while she juggled crying children, spit-up, and chaos in economy, I reclined in luxury, not lifting a finger. When a flight attendant politely asked if I’d help, I simply said, “No, thank you. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

When we landed, she looked like she’d been through battle missing stroller wheels, wrinkled clothes, one kid barefoot. “You really didn’t feel guilty?” she asked, stunned. I looked at her calmly and said, “Nope. I finally felt free.” For once, I wasn’t the fallback. I wasn’t the unpaid nanny. I was just a woman enjoying the trip she deserved — and it felt amazing.