When my cousin Brandon asked me to photograph his wedding for $250, I hesitated. I’m a professional dog groomer, not a wedding photographer. Sure, I take polished photos of my clients’ pets for Instagram, but capturing a once-in-a-lifetime event? That’s another level. Still, after pressure from Brandon and his fiancée Maya—plus a nudge from my dad to “help family”—I reluctantly agreed.

From the moment I arrived, it was clear they weren’t broke, just cheap. The hall was filled with $3,000 worth of flowers, a custom cocktail bar, and fancy décor. Yet I was treated like hired help—barked at, ignored, and denied even basic respect. For hours I ran around snapping every detail Maya demanded while sweating in a packed, airless hall.

By late afternoon, I was starving and dehydrated. I quietly asked Brandon if I could take twenty minutes to eat. His answer stunned me: “Photographers don’t eat at weddings. If you want food, you’re done for the day.” Maya chimed in, mocking me to “stick to dog pictures.” That was the breaking point.

In front of guests, I calmly began deleting every photo I’d taken. Maya shrieked in horror as I erased image after image before handing Brandon the empty memory card. “I’m not your photographer anymore,” I told them, then walked out to stunned silence.

Later, guests texted me their support, saying they had watched the mistreatment all day. Maya, I heard, spent the rest of the night crying in the bathroom. Brandon called demanding I pay for “do-over” photos—I hung up.

When I told Dad, he smiled proudly. “Respect matters more than blood,” he said. And he was right.