Sis-in-law demands I pay for her everywhere. Today, I requested separate bills. Left her wallet, she claimed. I prepped and grinned. However, I had anticipated this moment for months.
For five years, Dalila has been married to my husband’s younger brother. From the start, she had this anticipation. Any time we went out, I paid her share. She sometimes did the “oh no, you don’t have to” hand wave but never pulled a card. Other times, she didn’t pretend. She’d watch the waiter hand me the bill like it was my job.
First, I believed it was cultural miscommunication. Dalila said, “the oldest in the group always treats.” She was raised in an affluent Argentine household. I thought she thought I was “the oldest” because I married the older brother. We live in the U.S., and she’s lived here a decade. She understands.
Beginning with coffee runs. Then lunch. Then dinner. Then she took her pals on group outings that I paid for. Mateo, my husband, shrugged. “It’s family,” he said, as if that made money grow on trees.
Not wanting to be the greedy sister-in-law, I let it slip for the first two years. I was fed up by last year. The “forgetfulness” of Dalila had grown. She “forgot” her wallet at a spa, so I paid $300 for her massage and facial. She never paid me, even after reminding her.
I told Mateo I was done. He mumbled something not wanting “drama” between me and his brother’s wife, which enraged me. I chose to handle it myself.
Started tiny. I offer inexpensive meeting sites. She might “accidentally” be busy when she wanted to go nice. But she always managed to sneak an invitation that made declining awkward.
So when she contacted me last week, “Let’s do lunch, I’m craving that new seafood spot,” I knew what to do. I said, “Yes. Just so you know, I’m running separate checks now. My budget is thinner this month.” Maybe that might scare her off.
It didn’t. She said, “No problem!” with a smile.
Our restaurant meeting was today. I think her new expensive purse and gold bracelet cost more than my monthly mortgage. Ordered. She received lobster special. I ate grilled fish.
When the server brought the bill, I smiled and said, “Separate checks, please.” Dalila immediately went wide-eyed. “Oh no… I realized I left my wallet at home.” She tapped her purse for show. “So embarrassing.”
The old me would have sighed, pulled out my card, and said it wasn’t worth the embarrassment. This time, I was ready. I leaned in and whispered, “That’s fine, transfer the money via the app. I’ll pay now, but I’ll SMS you the exact amount.”
Shifted in her seat. “Uh… Sort of between accounts. My paycheck arrives Friday.”
My voice was light. “No problem, I’ll close my card after you transfer it. Waiter’s not rushing.”
Her smile sank. I could see her evaluating whether to continue the ruse. Finally, she sighed. Ok, fine. Have my wallet. I considered spending less today, but you know how it goes. She took out a chic black card.
Surprise—she paid for us both.
She did it almost defiantly to prove she could pay. Too sweet was the irony. She had not done that in five years.
She scarcely said goodbye as we left. I anticipated her wallowing. But what followed stunned me.
Her spouse, Esteban, Mateo’s brother, called two days later. He sounded cranky. Why are you depressing Dalila about money? They say you embarrassed her at lunch.”
I confessed that I was done covering her for years. He quieted. I was stunned when he said something. “She’s been telling people you insist on paying because you feel sorry for us.”
Dalila told friends and family that I “took pity” on their finances. That I adored displaying my “generosity.” The blood boiled. She was freeloading and portraying me as a condescending do-gooder.
I recognized then that this wasn’t about money. It was pride. She’d rather people think I pitied her than acknowledge she mooched.
I realized I couldn’t ignore this when I thought about it. For my sanity, not revenge.
The weekend family cookout was my next encounter with her. Cousins, uncles, and neighbors attended. I didn’t say anything, but a cousin quipped, “Dalila says you’re her personal sponsor, eh?” People giggled. She grinned.
I put my drink down. “Sponsor? She bought my lunch last week, which is funny. First time ever. I guess I must improve.”
The laughing changed. People noticed Dalila. Her cheeks rose. She quickly changed the topic, but the mood altered.
Something changed between us that day. She stopped inviting me on expensive trips. When we met, she always paid without being asked. We never became best friends, but the phony sweetness was gone.
I believed confronting her, even indirectly, would make me feel guilty. But I didn’t. I felt lighter.
Because letting others take advantage of you isn’t generous. It makes you vulnerable. Being assertive doesn’t imply being mean—it means respecting your limits.
Mateo now says he’s glad I handled it months later. Esteban had been quietly covering Dalila’s “forgotten” costs in other areas of their lives, but my stand made her more aware.
I learned that you educate others how to treat you. You must close your wallet occasionally to avoid being the infinite wallet. Those worth retaining will comprehend. Who doesn’t? They were never interested in you.
I’d like to hear how you handled a similar situation. If you’ve had to set a boundary the hard way, share this to aid someone else.