I learned the hard way that mixing family and business almost always ends in heartbreak. I trusted my half-sister to keep her promise, but instead she acted like she had done me a favor, even though I was the one who gave her everything. In the end, karma came for her — not me.
I’m 25 years old and I work as a freelance hair and makeup artist. I usually take jobs on weekends, and while it’s not a huge income, it covers my bills and makes me happy. I love it when women look in the mirror after I’m done and smile like they’re seeing themselves in a new light. That’s why I do it.
My stepsister Claire is 28. She has always been the favorite in the family. Everyone treats her like she can do no wrong, while I’m the one who has to play peacemaker, smooth things over, and take responsibility. Our relationship has always been rocky because she knows she’s on a pedestal — and she uses it.
I’ll never forget one of the first times she took advantage of me.
Back then, I had just started as a makeup artist. Claire told one of her friends that I would do her birthday hair and makeup. She promised her friend it would be full glam — which usually costs a lot — but then she added, “Don’t worry, she’s my stepsister. She’ll do it for free.”
She never even told me about this arrangement.
So when I talked to the friend later and explained my real price, the poor woman’s eyes went wide. She said, “Oh, but Claire told me it would be free! I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
That moment was painfully awkward. The client felt tricked, and I felt humiliated. It caused a huge fallout between Claire and me.
So months later, when Claire called me out of the blue to talk about her wedding, I thought maybe this was her way of making peace.
She started in a sugary voice, “Sooo, you’ll do my hair and makeup, right? And the bridesmaids too. Six of them. You’re sooo talented.”
I hesitated. “That’s… a lot of people, Claire. I’ll need to bring help.”
She jumped in quickly, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay. Just give me the family discount.”
For once, she wasn’t demanding it for free. I actually felt relieved. I gave her a price — $500 total. That was incredibly cheap for seven people with full hair and makeup, but I told myself, “It’s her wedding. She’s family. Be nice.”
She agreed right away. No contract, no paperwork — because she was family.
When the wedding day finally arrived, I showed up with my assistant. The bridal suite was chaos — dresses draped over chairs, shoes everywhere, bridesmaids buzzing with nerves.
Claire spotted me and crossed her arms. “Well, look who finally decided to show up.”
I checked the time. “I’m here on time, Claire. We should start soon if you want everyone ready.”
She smirked. “Just make sure you don’t overcharge me for this. Remember, it’s family.”
I met her eyes and said calmly, “We already agreed on the price. Let’s just keep it professional today.”
She tossed her hair. “Fine. Just do your job and don’t mess up.”
I refused to let her rattle me. “Then let’s get started. We’ve got a lot to do.”
My assistant and I worked nonstop. The bridesmaids were thrilled — they squealed when they saw themselves in the mirror. Even the photographer paused and said, “Wow, the makeup is stunning.”
But Claire? She was never satisfied. She made me redo her eyeliner three times.
“Ugh, it’s still not even,” she snapped. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
I put the brush down and looked at her reflection. “Claire, this is the third time. I’m doing my best, but makeup isn’t magic.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “Funny, I thought you were supposed to be a professional.”
My hands trembled slightly, but I kept my voice steady. “I am. And you asked me because you know I’m good at what I do. But if you keep moving every few seconds, it won’t come out right.”
She sighed dramatically. “Whatever. Just fix it. I need to look perfect.”
Finally, when I finished, she gasped at her reflection. “I look like a celebrity.”
The bridesmaids swarmed her, fixing dresses and bouquets. Compliments filled the room, cameras flashed, perfume and hairspray lingered in the air. Claire basked in the praise like she was royalty. As they all rushed out, I overheard her whisper to a bridesmaid, “Good thing she finally got it right.”
I bit back a reply. At least my work shined where it mattered.
The ceremony was beautiful. Flowers lined the aisle, music swelled, and Claire floated down the path like a queen. From where I stood, I saw people whispering about how gorgeous she looked. Every detail I had worked on was admired.
At the reception, the bridesmaids came up to me quietly. “Thank you again, we loved our looks.” Their words warmed me. But Claire? She didn’t even glance at me. She never introduced me as her stylist. She danced, laughed, and posed for photos, pretending the earlier drama never happened.
By the end of the night, I was exhausted but proud. I went home expecting her to pay soon, since she had promised.
The next day, I sent her a polite message asking about payment. No reply. I waited. Days passed. Finally, she sent a message that made my stomach drop.
She wrote: “Lol, I’m not paying. Family shouldn’t charge family. Plus, think of all the exposure you’ll get from the wedding photos.”
I stared at the screen in disbelief. I reminded her of her promise. I reminded her I had brought help, given a huge discount, and worked for hours. She ignored every message after that.
I felt betrayed. But little did I know — karma was coming for her.
A few days later, my phone rang. Claire’s voice was frantic. “You MUST help me! What they did is a total disaster!”
I asked flatly, “Who’s they?”
Her words tumbled out: “The stylists I went to for another event after the wedding. They ruined my hair. It’s uneven, it’s fried, it’s literally falling out! And my makeup — it’s blotchy! I look awful in all the pictures! People are laughing at me!”
Her desperation was loud through the line. She begged, “Please, Abby. I know I said I wouldn’t pay, but this is different. I need you. I can’t let people see me like this again.”
I took a slow breath. “Claire, I gave you my best work on your wedding day. You looked perfect. You promised to pay me, then ghosted me. And now, after you chose someone else, you expect me to fix their mistakes?”
She whimpered, “But… you’re my sister. Isn’t that what family is for?”
My grip on the phone tightened, but my voice was calm. “I was your sister when I woke up at dawn for you. I was your sister when I charged almost nothing for seven people. I was your sister when I made you feel like a celebrity. And you still walked all over me. No, Claire. Not this time.”
Her sobs grew louder. “Abby, please. I’m begging you. I can’t live with these photos. I need you.”
I shook my head. “Then find someone else. Because I don’t need this anymore.”
I hung up. For the first time in years, I felt no guilt — only relief.
But of course, Claire ran to my mom.
The next day, my mother called. Her voice was sharp. “Abigail, I just spoke with Claire. She’s devastated. She says you refused to help her when she really needed you. Can’t you just let this go and fix things for her?”
I closed my eyes. “Mom, I already showed up for her. I worked hours for her wedding, charged almost nothing, and she still refused to pay me. That wasn’t an accident. That was her choice.”
Mom sighed. “Still, she’s your sister. Family should help family.”
This time, I didn’t waver. “I’ve always been the one to keep the peace, Mom. I’ve taken the blame, stayed quiet, and sacrificed too much. But not anymore. Claire broke her word. And I won’t fix her problems again.”
There was silence. For once, I didn’t bend.
When I hung up, I realized something had shifted. I was done being walked over. Done mixing family with business.
And I would never make that mistake again.