I’ve always said I love my sister-in-law, but I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t exhausting.

Melissa is… a lot. High-maintenance, dramatic, convinced the universe exists to cater to her. For the sake of my brother, Brandon, I’ve spent the last ten years biting my tongue and trying to keep the peace.

But there’s only so much leeching a person can do before something in you snaps.

It started when she invited me on a “fun little grocery trip” to this absurdly overpriced gourmet store she loves.

“Come on, Hannah,” she’d said. “We never get girl time. It’ll be fun!”

It was right before her birthday, so I figured, okay, maybe this is a chance to bond, maybe even spot something I could buy her as a gift later. I had no idea I was walking straight into a setup.

The second we walked in, she was in her element, swanning through the aisles like a duchess on a food show. She kept tossing things into the cart without even looking at the prices—imported cheeses, fancy oils, six different scented candles, specialty snacks, random jars of stuff no sane person keeps in their pantry.

“Do you really need that many candles?” I asked when she dumped another armful in.

“Yes,” she said, dead serious. “These are for my birthday vibe.”

By the time we reached the register, the total flashed on the screen and my heart stopped.

$1,470.

I literally felt my jaw drop. The cashier read the number twice. Melissa just smiled like nothing was weird about dropping almost fifteen hundred dollars on a “quick grocery run.”

I was still processing when she did it.

She patted her bag, frowned dramatically, and gasped.

“Oh no. Hannah, I think I left my wallet at home,” she said. “Can you just cover this? I’ll transfer you as soon as we get back.”

That cold prickle ran down my spine. I knew her well enough to recognize the tone. This wasn’t a mistake; it was a performance.

“Mel… this is a ridiculous amount of money,” I said quietly. “Are you sure you need all of this?”

“Yes,” she said, already turning away. “It’s all for my birthday. And you’re loaded, Hannah. You can afford it. I promise, either Brandon or I will pay you back.”

I could afford it. That wasn’t the point. But I also didn’t feel like causing a scene in front of a growing line of people, so I swallowed my irritation, pulled out my card, and paid.

Outside, she didn’t even pretend to be grateful. No “thank you,” no “I’ll send you the money when I get home.” She just waved, got into her car, and drove off with a trunk full of my money.

A few days went by. Then a week.

At our next family brunch, I finally brought it up. We were at the table, she was sipping a mimosa like a queen, and I said lightly:

“Hey, Mel, did you ever manage to send that money from the grocery run?”

She laughed. Actually laughed.

“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why are you being so greedy? Just consider it a birthday gift. You can afford it.”

Something in me went very, very still.

Greedy. Right.

I didn’t start shouting. I didn’t throw my napkin or storm out. I smiled, took a sip of my coffee, and decided that if Melissa loved playing games, I was finally going to play one back.

She just didn’t know the rules yet.

The first step was the luxury car she wouldn’t shut up about.

For months she’d been bragging about the “gorgeous, luxurious” car she was going to buy.

“It’s like the seats were made just for my body,” she gushed. “And Brandon’s going to co-sign the loan so I can get it.”

“Why does he need to co-sign?” I asked, even though I already knew.

She shrugged, sheepish but smug. “Because my credit is trash. But that’s what husbands are for, right?” Then she laughed like she’d said something adorable.

I decided to make sure that car became a little harder to reach.

I called the dealership, posing as someone curious about the same model.

“I don’t have great credit,” I said. “But my sister-in-law, Melissa [Last Name], got approved and her credit isn’t good either. How does that work?”

The salesman perked up at her name. I handed over enough details—truthfully—that they realized they should be more cautious. Next thing I knew, they were “reassessing the application” and requesting extra documents and references.

Melissa was furious.

“Why is this taking so long?” she whined to my brother one evening when they were over. “I was supposed to have my car by now!”

“They said they just need more paperwork,” Brandon said. “I don’t understand it either, but you’re going to have to be patient.”

“Stupid formalities,” she muttered, stabbing at her food. “They didn’t ask for this when we got your mom’s birthday cake.”

Perfect segue.

Because the next step involved that exact same high-end bakery she’d ordered a ridiculously expensive custom cake from for her birthday party.

I called my friend Jess, who works there.

“Hey, you’ve got an order from my sister-in-law, Melissa,” I said. “Heads up: she has a habit of… not paying people back. I’d hate for your business to get burned. Maybe ask for full payment upfront?”

Jess didn’t hesitate. The next day, they called Melissa and told her they’d need the full amount in advance.

Melissa was livid.

“This is ridiculous!” she ranted to Brandon. “They’ve never asked for this before.”

“But you’ve got the money, right?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “That’s not the point. It’s the principle.”

Uh-huh. Suddenly, paying people what she owed them was a matter of “principle.”

Then I went for the thing she loved most after shopping in person: shopping online.

“Hey, Brandon,” I said casually one day. “Can I use your Amazon account? I’m thinking of getting a Kindle and I’m too lazy to make a new login.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll text you the password.”

He did. I logged in. Then I changed the password and recovery email.

Melissa was on our couch a few days later, scrolling through her phone.

“What the hell,” she muttered. “Why can’t I log in?”

She spent hours on the phone with customer service, getting more and more annoyed, absolutely convinced that the website was broken or hacked.

“Amazon customer service is useless!” she ranted later when Brandon came to pick her up. “Your account is gone! It’s like it doesn’t even exist.”

“Maybe it’s a sign you should shop less,” he joked.

She glared at him. “It’s my birthday soon, Brandon. I deserve nice things.”

Sure. At everyone else’s expense.

Finally, her big birthday dinner rolled around.

Family, a few friends, the fancy cake she’d actually had to pay for, and a very tense air because I had spent the afternoon quietly making sure everyone knew about the $1,470 grocery stunt.

I didn’t embellish. I just told the story as it happened.

“I took her to this store, she filled the cart, ‘forgot’ her wallet, swore she’d pay me back… and then told me I was greedy for asking,” I said. “I’m not saying don’t come. I’m just saying… know who you’re dealing with.”

A surprising number of people decided they suddenly had other plans that night.

By the time the party started, the fabulous guest list Melissa had been bragging about was… sparse.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, looking around the almost-empty room.

“I don’t know,” Brandon said honestly. “Maybe they’re running late?”

“The party started an hour ago,” she snapped. “This is embarrassing.”

I just sipped my drink and shrugged.

When it came time for presents, her pile was noticeably smaller than usual. People had brought candles, flowers, modest gift cards. Nothing like the spoiled displays she was used to.

My gift was last.

She opened the envelope, already looking annoyed that it wasn’t a big box.

Inside was a birthday card and a gift card.

The card read:

“Here’s a little something toward your next shopping trip. Happy birthday, Melissa! ❤️ Hannah”

The gift card amount?

$14.70.

She stared at it, color rising in her cheeks as the number sank in.

“You’re petty,” she muttered under her breath.

“Says the woman who ‘forgot’ a $1,470 wallet,” I said quietly, smiling. “Consider the rest of it my birthday gift to you.”

She was humiliated. There was no screaming match, just this thick silence where everyone in the room very clearly understood what the number meant.

After the party, things were… tense.

Melissa avoided me. Fine by me.

A few nights later, Brandon called.

He sounded exhausted.

“Hey,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” I said, already knowing what this would be about.

“It’s Mel,” he sighed. “I don’t know what to do. She’s been acting so strange. And now that I know what she did to you… I’m starting to see all the things I’ve ignored.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear it from other people,” I said. “But you deserved to know. She can’t keep manipulating everyone and expecting us to just pay for it—literally and emotionally.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“I think we need a serious conversation,” he said finally. “Maybe counseling. But if she doesn’t change…” He exhaled. “I don’t know if this marriage can survive who she really is.”

I didn’t push. It wasn’t my decision to make. I just listened, hoping that, finally, my brother’s eyes were open.

As for Melissa?

She might still see me as the villain in her story. But she’s thinking twice before pulling her “oops, I forgot my wallet” routine on anyone again.

And honestly?

I can live with that.

What would you have done?