Eight months pregnant, I expected to be a guest at my sister Tara’s extravagant wedding. Instead, she assigned me a “family duty” that nearly broke me.I was on her living room floor, gluing fake flowers together—because she’d already blown the budget on imported appetizers—when she casually announced, “We’re offering luxury transportation for all the guests. Timothy can handle it, right? He owns a car service.”

She didn’t ask. She decided. Just like always.And I assume I’m driving, too?” I asked.Of course,” she said. “You’re pregnant, so… you’ll be the sober one. It’s not like you’ll be dancing.” texted my husband, “Please come get me.”Ten minutes later, Timothy pulled up, tacos in hand. I told him everything on the ride home—especially how she printed wedding programs saying the rides were complimentary, provided by us.He just smiled. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll give her exactly what she asked for… just not the way she imagined.”