When I came home with my newborn from the hospital, I spotted a note on the kitchen table and assumed it was a sweet message from my mother-in-law.

Instead, it was a $600 invoice for taking care of our dog, Rich, while I was in labor. My husband promised to handle it, but I had a better plan.

Just a few days before I was due, I was sprawled on the couch, battling a dull ache in my back that was growing sharper by the minute.

My golden retriever, Rich, sat beside me, resting his head on my lap like he sensed my discomfort.

I absentmindedly scratched his ears while calling out to Jake, my husband, who was in the kitchen making a sandwich.

“Jake, we need to figure out what to do with Rich while we’re at the hospital,” I said. He walked over with his sandwich, kissed my forehead, and casually reassured me. “Don’t stress. Mom loves Rich. She’ll handle it.” His easygoing nature was one of the reasons I loved him, but in moments like these, it could also drive me nuts.

Later that night, Jake called his mom, Abigail, to ask if she could watch Rich. She agreed instantly, saying she was happy to help. Problem solved—or so I thought.

The next morning, with bags packed, we said goodbye to Rich at Abigail’s house. She smiled and waved us off, saying,

“Don’t worry, I’ll take great care of him. Go have my grandchild!” Despite her kindness, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t thrilled about not being allowed at the hospital. Still, I appreciated her willingness to help.

At the hospital, things progressed faster than expected, and my water broke just as we arrived. Labor was nothing short of brutal.

Hours of gripping bed rails, enduring contractions, and Jake trying (and failing) to look calm left me utterly drained. But when they placed my son in my arms, every ounce of pain vanished. Jake and I cried like fools, marveling at the tiny, perfect person we’d brought into the world.

Three days later, we were discharged. Jake called Abigail to thank her and let her know we were heading home. She graciously said she’d give us a few days to settle before visiting the baby.

I was grateful for her thoughtfulness and excited to reunite Rich with his new little brother.

Walking into the kitchen, I noticed a folded note on the table. My heart warmed, thinking Abigail had left us a sweet welcome-home message.

But when I opened it, the note read:
“You owe me $600 for feeding and walking Rich. My time costs money. You have my bank details.”

At first, I thought I’d read it wrong. But no, she was serious. My mother-in-law had billed us for watching our dog—without ever mentioning it beforehand.

I called Jake into the kitchen, waving the note in disbelief. He groaned and said he’d talk to her, but I stopped him. “No, I’ll handle this,” I said, an idea already forming.

A week later, Abigail visited to meet the baby. She cooed over her grandson, but as soon as she handed him back to me, she got down to business.

“So, when can I expect my money?” she asked with a too-sweet smile. I smiled back. “Of course, Abigail. I’ll pay you—on one condition.”

I walked over to the desk, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the table. “Since you’re charging us for services, it’s only fair we do the same,” I explained. The folder contained a detailed invoice of every favor Jake and I had done for her over the years: moving her house ($800), covering her car repair ($1,200), and babysitting her neighbor’s kids ($600).

Her face turned pale as she scanned the document. “This is ridiculous!” she sputtered. “You can’t charge family for things like this!” I raised an eyebrow. “Exactly. Family doesn’t charge family. Or at least, that’s what I thought.”

She tried to argue but eventually stormed out, red-faced and fuming. Jake, who had been silently observing, wrapped me in a hug and chuckled, “No one should mess with my wife.” I laughed, sinking onto the couch with the baby while Rich curled up at my feet.

I knew Abigail might not have learned her lesson, but one thing was certain—she wouldn’t be seeing that $600 anytime soon. And if she dared to bring it up again, well, I still had the folder. Let her try me.