I promised my niece Megan that I’d buy her a beautiful wedding dress for her big day. After all, I had practically raised her since she lost her parents when she was just ten years old. I didn’t have kids of my own, and Megan had become like a daughter to me. Now, nearly 20 years later, she was finally getting married to her boyfriend of ten years, Tyler, with whom she shared three wonderful kids.

I wanted her day to be perfect, and offering to buy her wedding dress felt like a special way to contribute. Megan was over the moon when I told her, and we even scheduled a trip to the bridal boutique. Everything seemed perfect.

But then, a few days later, I was working in the garage, organizing some old tools, when I heard Megan’s voice nearby. She was on the phone with Tyler, talking about wedding plans. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but her words made me freeze in my tracks.

Megan’s voice carried as she said, “Uncle Tim’s going to buy my dress, and it’s going to be a designer one, of course. He’ll probably get the most expensive one there, just like he always does. Honestly, I don’t know why he even bothers, it’s not like he’ll be around much longer to keep spending his money on me. I mean, he practically owes me after everything he’s done for me since I was a kid.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My heart sank. After all these years of love and support, to hear her talk about me so coldly, like I was some sort of ATM, left me speechless. She didn’t seem to appreciate the sentiment behind the gift at all—it was as if my kindness had become something she expected, something she felt entitled to.

As I stood there, my hands shaking slightly from the hurt, I realized I couldn’t buy her that dress. Not after hearing her talk about me like that. I had always wanted to make her feel special, to support her, but I couldn’t allow myself to be taken for granted.

When Megan called the next day to confirm our dress-shopping plans, I gently told her that I’d changed my mind about buying the dress. “I think it’s best if you and Tyler handle that part,” I said, keeping my voice calm and measured.

There was silence on the other end, and I could sense her shock. But for me, the decision had already been made. I wasn’t withdrawing my love or support—I was just setting a boundary. Some things, I realized, couldn’t be bought, and respect was one of them.