I’ve always been my sister’s go-to babysitter, but when she demanded I watch her kids on a flight to Italy, I chose myself, and her airport meltdown proved I was right. My sister, Kate, loves the spotlight, a single mom obsessed with her new boyfriend, Luke. A week before our Italy trip, she called, saying, “You’re handling my kids on the flight.” I froze. “What?” She sighed. “I need Luke time. You’ve got no kids, so it’s easy.” She hung up, assuming I’d agree. Our parents, enjoying retirement in a Rome villa, gifted us tickets for a two-week stay, but Kate treated it like her personal getaway, with me as her childcare.
I told her I wasn’t babysitting mid-flight. “Just pitch in when I need you,” she snapped, then ended the call. I fumed. She’s done this before—like leaving me with her toddler for days while she “unwound” at a spa. This time, I had my own agenda. I called the airline. “Any business class for Rome?” I asked. “Two seats, $45 with miles,” the agent said. “Book it,” I said, dreaming of peace. I didn’t tell Kate, letting her think I’d be next to her, juggling her kids’ snacks and toys.
The airport was hectic—crowds, cries, chaos. Kate arrived, stroller teetering, bags heavy, her five-year-old yelling about a lost toy, baby squirming. She looked overwhelmed, her usual drama fading. I stood composed, then said, “I upgraded to business class.” Her face fell. “Seriously?” I nodded. “You said you were fine.” She shouted, “That’s so selfish! Family helps out!” I replied, “I said no. You ignored me.” I scanned my pass and walked to business class, her voice fading. In my cozy seat, I sipped champagne, watching Kate struggle in coach, one kid fussing, the other running, Luke floundering with bags. Her glare met my smile.
Two hours in, a flight attendant said, “A woman in 29A wants you to swap or help with her baby.” I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks.” She smiled and left. I slipped on headphones, enjoying music and calm, ignoring the distant wails. I savored a gourmet meal—steak, salad, mousse—and a movie, free from kid drama. Landing in Rome, I saw Kate—exhausted, clothes messy, kids restless. At baggage claim, her stroller was damaged, while my bags waited. “No guilt?” she asked, stunned. I smiled. “None. I’m free.” That flight taught me to prioritize myself. In Italy, I enjoyed art and gelato, rediscovering joy. Kate handled her chaos, and I found peace in choosing me.
