At eight months pregnant, I expected to be a guest at my sister Tara’s wedding—not a chauffeur. But Tara has always been the type to assign tasks, not ask. So when she casually announced that my husband’s transportation company would provide free rides for her guests, I froze. She hadn’t asked. She’d just assumed.

Worse, she expected me—nine months pregnant by the wedding—to drive. “You’ll be the sober one,” she chirped. “It’s not like you’ll be dancing.” That was the last straw. I texted my husband, Timothy, and when he picked me up, I told him everything. Calmly, he said, “We’ll give her what she asked for—just not the way she imagined.”

At the vineyard wedding, our company’s drivers looked sharp, cars polished, everything perfectly professional. Guests were wowed—until it came time to leave. Each one was told, “That’ll be $50. The bride said her guests were classy enough to contribute.” Shock rippled through the crowd.

Tara was livid when she found out. “You humiliated me!” she screamed. I told her simply, “You never asked us. You just printed it.” She demanded the money. I told her it went to the business, like it would for any client.

Days later, Tara texted that she’d never forgive me. But as I sat beside Timothy, eating ice cream and feeling our baby kick, I realized I wasn’t upset. I felt free. Setting a boundary didn’t destroy me—it saved me.

Because this baby? They deserve a mom who chooses self-respect over sacrifice. Every single time.