When my sister-in-law, Candace, called me up one day and offered to host my kids at her mansion for a whole week, I thought, wow—this is like a dream come true. Her house wasn’t just big; it was a giant playground.
Six bedrooms, ten acres of land, a sparkling resort-style pool, a huge trampoline, and a fancy PlayStation 5 where my kids could hang out with their cousin Mikayla.
Mikayla is my twelve-year-old niece who has everything money can buy but spends her summers bored out of her mind. So, this sounded like the perfect way for all the kids to have fun together.
“It sounds amazing,” I said, my mind already packing their bags. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
Candace laughed warmly over the phone. “Not at all! Mikayla needs friends around. You’d be doing us a favor.”
Hearing her say that made my heart feel lighter. My kids deserved a summer like this, filled with sunshine and laughter.
“Great! I’ll drop them off on Friday,” I said, excited.
I packed their swimsuits, favorite snacks, and even slipped $150 cash to each kid for treats. I gave Mikayla the same amount when I dropped them off too—felt fair that way. After all, my mom always said, “Always say thank you with actions, not just words.”
When I pulled up to Candace’s mansion on that Friday afternoon, my daughter Annie jumped out of the car and hugged me tight. “Thanks, Mom. This is going to be the best week ever!”
My son Dean was already peeking through the sliding glass doors, eyes wide at the pool. “Can we swim right now?”
Candace chuckled. “Unpack first!” she said with a smile. Then, turning to Mikayla, she added, “Mikayla, show your cousins to their rooms, please?”
Mikayla nodded and waved Annie and Dean to follow her inside.
“Text me everything,” I called after them as they hurried away.
Annie flashed me a thumbs-up right before she disappeared. I waved goodbye to Candace and drove off, a huge smile on my face, imagining the fun the kids would have that week.
I never dreamed I was sending them straight into a nightmare.
For three days, I didn’t hear a single thing. No funny photos, no “wish you were here” texts, no memes—nothing. And you know how kids are glued to their phones! My phone stayed dead silent.
Dean might have been busy playing with the PS5 or bouncing on the trampoline, but Annie was usually way more responsible. So, the silence made my stomach twist.
On day three, I texted Candace, trying to shake off the worry.
“Oh, they’re having SUCH a blast!” she replied instantly. “Pool, candy, cartoons—it’s like a kid’s paradise here!”
I pictured them doing cannonballs in the pool and giggling under fairy lights. Maybe they were unplugged and happy. I tried to believe it.
But then, day four came.
I was wiping crumbs off the kitchen counter when my phone buzzed. The screen lit up with Annie’s name. My heart jumped.
But the message was short and terrifying:
“Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. It’s my only chance.”
I didn’t call Candace or my husband. I jumped in my car and sped off, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.
What could be so bad that my kids needed saving?
I parked in a hurry and rushed to the backyard.
What I saw froze me solid.
Dean was on his knees scrubbing the pool tiles with a brush way too big for his little hands.
Annie was dragging a heavy black garbage bag across the grass like she was a grown-up cleaning lady.
Meanwhile, Mikayla lounged by the pool, sipping orange juice from a mason jar, tapping away on her phone like a queen.
Then, my eyes caught the clipboard on the patio table. I walked over and stared in disbelief.
Pinned to it was a list titled:
Annie and Dean’s Daily Chores
(For Access to Pool + 30 Min Cartoons)
- Sweep and mop all bedrooms
- Do dishes and dry
- Fold laundry (all 3 bedrooms)
- Clean bathroom sink and toilet
- Wipe kitchen counters
- Take out garbage & sort recyclables
- Skim and vacuum the pool
- Make lemonade for outdoor guests
- Help with evening BBQ (if Mikayla has guests)
At the bottom were two smiley faces Candace had drawn.
My skin went cold. My hands clenched into fists. This wasn’t a fun visit. This was child labor.
Just then, Candace came out, all sunshine and fake smiles.
“Oh! You’re early! Everything okay?” she asked, like I was the grumpy one.
I pointed to the clipboard, unable to believe what I was seeing.
Candace laughed. “Oh, the chores? Your kids offered to help. Isn’t that sweet? They wanted to earn their pool time.”
Before I could say anything, Annie appeared behind her, eyes full of defeat.
“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.”
My heart broke. Sleep in the garage? For refusing chores? My babies?
I barely trusted myself to look at Candace, let alone speak to her. Instead, I beckoned Annie and Dean.
“Pack your stuff. We’re leaving now.”
The kids didn’t hesitate. They moved fast, stuffing clothes into bags like they’d been waiting for this moment their whole visit.
“Where are your phones?” I asked.
“Locked in her bedroom safe,” Dean said. “She said we were too distracted to work properly.”
Eight and ten years old, treated like employees.
I held out the car keys. “Get your stuff in the car and wait there. I’ll get your phones.”
Inside, Candace started firing excuses like a leaky faucet.
“It was just a fun system! They like helping! It builds character! Kids these days need structure!”
“Not another word,” I snapped. “Candace, I’m this close to doing something I’ll regret. Just give me their phones. Now.”
She flinched. Finally, she handed over the phones without a word.
I didn’t look back as I left, driving away with my quiet, shaken children.
But I wasn’t done yet.
The next morning, I sent Candace an invoice.
Labor Services Provided:
2 children x 3 days of work = $600
I itemized every chore: dishes, bathrooms, pool cleaning, trash duty, guest prep.
At the bottom, I added a note:
“If you don’t pay, I’ll share photos of your daughter lounging while mine cleaned up her lemonade cups. Starting with your book club group chat.”
Guess what? She Venmo’d me in full within an hour.
I took that money and spent two whole days at the amusement park with my kids.
They ate cotton candy for breakfast, rode roller coasters until they were dizzy, had funnel cake for lunch, and did zero chores.
“Mom, this is way better than that pool,” Annie said, chocolate smeared on her chin from an ice cream cone.
“Yeah, and we don’t have to clean anything!” Dean added, spinning around on the grass.
That night, as we collapsed on the couch with pizza and movies, they told me the worst part.
Mikayla had friends over every day for pool parties, barbecues, and sleepovers.
And my kids? They were the ones cleaning up after everyone.
“Aunt Candace kept saying we should be grateful,” Annie said quietly, “that we were learning responsibility.”
Like being forced to scrub toilets and mop floors for pool time was some kind of lesson.
Candace called three times that week. I didn’t answer.
She texted apologies and excuses. I deleted every message.
She even sent a Facebook message saying I was overreacting, that kids need chores, and that she was trying to help.
Help? She called exploiting my kids “help.”
She stole their vacation and gave them jobs.
She thought I wouldn’t find out, or maybe she thought I’d be too polite to make a scene.
She thought wrong.
That summer, my kids did learn something valuable.
They learned that their mom will always come when they call for help.
They learned that fair is fair, and work deserves pay.
And most importantly, they learned that some adults lie—but the right adults will always protect them.
If you ever wonder what a parent’s love looks like—this is it.