When my sister-in-law, Candace, offered to have my kids stay at her huge mansion for a whole week, I honestly thought it was the best idea ever.
“Come on, let them stay! They’ll have a blast. We’ve got the pool, tons of games, snacks, and Mikayla could really use the company,” she said over the phone.
Candace lived in a giant six-bedroom house on a ten-acre property. I imagined my ten-year-old daughter, Annie, and my eight-year-old son, Dean, jumping into her fancy pool, bouncing on the huge trampoline, and playing hours of video games on Mikayla’s PlayStation 5.
Mikayla was her twelve-year-old daughter — rich, spoiled, and bored out of her mind all summer. This setup sounded perfect for everyone.
“That sounds amazing,” I replied, smiling into the phone. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Not at all! You’d be doing me a favor,” she said. “Mikayla really needs some fun.”
My heart warmed. It felt good to give my kids a real summer adventure. Something magical. Something they’d remember forever.
“Great! I’ll drop them off on Friday.”
I packed everything—swimsuits, sunscreen, extra clothes, their favorite snacks. I gave each of my kids $150 so they could buy whatever treats or little toys they wanted during the stay. Before I left, I even handed Mikayla $150 too, just to be fair.
My mom always said, “Say thank you with actions, not just words.” That’s what I was trying to do.
When we arrived, Annie jumped out of the car and hugged me tight. “Thanks, Mom. This is going to be the best week ever.”
Dean’s eyes were locked on the sparkling blue water through the glass doors. “Can we swim right now?”
Candace laughed. “Get unpacked first!” She turned to Mikayla. “Sweetie, show your cousins to their rooms, will you?”
Mikayla barely looked up but nodded. Annie and Dean hurried inside, excited.
“Text me everything!” I called after them.
Annie gave me a thumbs-up and disappeared through the door. I waved to Candace and drove off smiling, picturing their week full of giggles, games, and glowing tans.
I had no idea I’d just dropped them off into a nightmare.
For three days, I heard nothing. Not a single text. No selfies. No “look at us in the pool!” photos. Nothing.
And these were kids. They usually texted me five times a day just to show me a new bubble tea or meme. My phone staying silent that long? It wasn’t right.
Sure, maybe Dean was too into video games. But Annie was always the more responsible one. She always checked in.
Worried, I texted Candace on day three:
“Hey! Everything okay with the kids?”
She replied almost instantly:
“Oh, they’re having SUCH a blast. Pool, candy, cartoons. It’s kid heaven over here!”
I tried to believe her. I pictured my babies laughing under fairy lights, roasting marshmallows, dancing on the trampoline. Maybe they were just finally unplugging. That’s what I told myself.
Then came day four.
I was brushing crumbs off the kitchen counter when my phone buzzed. It was from Annie. I smiled automatically—until I read the message:
“Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. It’s my only chance.”
My stomach dropped. I didn’t call Candace. I didn’t call my husband. I just ran.
I grabbed my keys, jumped into the car, and peeled out of the driveway. My hands were shaking. My mind raced with every horrible thought imaginable. What was happening to my babies?
The 25-minute drive felt like a lifetime.
When I reached Candace’s mansion, I didn’t even park properly. I threw the car into park, jumped out, and headed straight for the backyard.
What I saw made my heart freeze.
Dean—my sweet, playful eight-year-old—was down on his knees, scrubbing the tiles around the pool with a brush almost as big as his arm.
Annie was dragging a huge black trash bag across the grass like she worked for the city.
And there was Mikayla—reclining on a sun lounger, sipping orange juice from a mason jar, tapping on her phone like a movie star.
I couldn’t move. My body locked up.
Then I saw it.
On the patio table was a clipboard. I picked it up.
At the top:
Annie and Dean’s Daily Chores — for Access to Pool + 30 Min Cartoons
The list underneath made my blood boil:
- Sweep and mop all bedrooms
- Do dishes and dry
- Fold laundry (all 3 bedrooms)
- Clean bathroom sink and toilet
- Wipe kitchen counters
- Take out the garbage & sort returnables
- Skim and vacuum the pool
- Make lemonade for outdoor guests
- Help with evening BBQ (if Mikayla has guests)
And at the bottom, two smiley faces.
Like this was cute. Like this was a game.
My hands curled into fists.
Candace came outside just then, all fake smiles.
“Oh! You’re early! Everything okay? You look… grumpy?”
She followed my eyes to the clipboard and laughed.
“Oh, the chores? Your kids offered to help. Isn’t that sweet? They wanted to earn their pool time.”
Before I could say a word, Annie walked up behind her. Her face was pale. Her eyes looked… tired. Beaten.
“We didn’t offer, Mom,” she whispered. “Aunt Candace said if we didn’t work, she’d take away the money you gave us and make us sleep in the garage.”
The garage. She threatened my children with the garage like they were dogs.
I couldn’t even look at Candace anymore. Not with all the sharp objects lying around. I wanted to scream, break things—but instead, I turned to my kids and said calmly:
“Pack your stuff. We’re leaving. Now.”
Annie and Dean didn’t hesitate. They ran inside to grab their bags.
“Where are your phones?” I asked as they stuffed clothes into their backpacks.
“She locked them in her bedroom safe,” Dean said. “Said we were too distracted to work.”
I gave Annie the car keys. “Go. Start the car. Wait for me. I’m getting your phones.”
Candace was in the kitchen, her voice flying out as fast as her excuses.
“It was just structure! Kids need discipline! It builds responsibility! It wasn’t that bad!”
I stopped her cold.
“Not another word, Candace,” I growled. “I am this close to throwing that blender at your head, so get my kids’ phones. Now.”
She must’ve seen I wasn’t bluffing. She flinched, then quietly handed over the phones. I walked out of her house and didn’t look back.
I drove home with my kids in silence. They were quiet in the backseat, staring out the window, trying to pretend like this was just a weird dream.
But I wasn’t done. Not even close.
The next morning, I sent Candace an invoice.
Labor Services Provided — 2 children x 3 days = $600
Underneath, I listed every chore:
- Dishwashing
- Bathroom cleaning
- Pool maintenance
- Garbage duty
- Guest preparation
At the bottom, I added:
“If you don’t pay, I’ll start sending photos of Mikayla lounging while my daughter cleaned up her sticky lemonade cups—to your book club group chat.”
Guess who Venmo’d me the full amount within the hour?
I used every cent to take my kids to the amusement park. Two full days.
They had cotton candy for breakfast. Rode every roller coaster three times. Ate funnel cake for lunch. And not one single chore in sight.
“This is way better than that pool,” Annie said, chocolate ice cream all over her chin.
“Yeah! And we don’t have to clean anything!” Dean yelled, spinning in the grass.
That night, we collapsed on the couch, eating pizza, watching movies, and finally smiling again.
Then they told me the worst part.
Mikayla had invited her friends over every single day. Pool parties, barbecues, sleepovers. And my kids? They cleaned up after all of it.
“Aunt Candace kept saying we should be grateful,” Annie murmured. “That we were learning responsibility.”
She made my children her personal housekeepers—and tried to call it a lesson.
Candace called three times that week. I never answered. She texted apologies, made excuses, even sent a message on Facebook saying I was overreacting.
That kids need chores. That she was trying to help.
Help?
No. She stole their summer. She lied to me. She used my children.
But you know what? My kids did learn something after all.
They learned that when they’re in trouble, their mom will always come for them.
They learned that work should always be respected—and paid.
And they learned that not all adults tell the truth… but the right ones will always protect them.
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