When my sister-in-law, Candace, offered to let my kids stay at her big fancy mansion for a whole week, I thought it was a dream come true.
Her house was like something out of a magazine — six bedrooms, a massive swimming pool that looked like a resort, a trampoline, acres of space to run around, and a fully stocked game room with the newest PlayStation. I imagined my 10-year-old daughter, Annie, and my 8-year-old son, Dean, having the time of their lives with their cousin Mikayla.
Candace’s daughter, Mikayla, was twelve and always complained about being bored. She had everything money could buy but no one to play with all summer. So when Candace called and said:
“Why don’t Annie and Dean stay over for a week? We’ve got the pool, snacks, and games—it’ll be fun for everyone!”
I was thrilled.
“That sounds amazing,” I said, already thinking about what to pack. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Not at all! Honestly, you’d be doing us a favor. Mikayla needs friends around.”
Her kindness warmed my heart. I thought, Wow, my kids deserve a little luxury like this.
“Great! I’ll drop them off Friday!”
That Friday, I packed everything—swimsuits, towels, sunscreen, their favorite snacks, and I gave each of my kids $150 for treats. Just to be fair, I also handed $150 to Mikayla when we got there.
My mom always said, “Say thank you with actions, not just words.”
As soon as we pulled into the driveway, Annie hugged me tight.
“Thanks, Mom. This is gonna be the best week ever!”
Dean didn’t even say anything. His eyes were locked on the sparkling pool through the glass doors.
“Can we swim now?” he asked eagerly.
Candace laughed.
“Get unpacked first!” she said. Then she turned to Mikayla. “Honey, show your cousins to their rooms, please?”
Mikayla gave a quick nod and waved Annie and Dean toward the house.
“Text me everything!” I called as they disappeared inside.
Annie grinned and gave me a thumbs-up just before the door closed. I waved goodbye to Candace and drove home smiling, picturing pool splashes, popsicles, and late-night movie marathons.
But I had no idea I’d just dropped my kids off in a place that would turn into a nightmare.
For the first three days, I didn’t hear a peep. No texts. No pictures. No funny memes. Not even a “look at this floaty!” photo from the pool. At first, I thought maybe they were having too much fun to check in.
But by the third day, something started to feel off. My kids never go that long without messaging me—especially Annie.
So I texted Candace.
She replied almost immediately:
“Oh, they’re having SUCH a blast. Pool, candy, cartoons—it’s a full-on kid paradise here!”
I tried to calm myself. Maybe they really were having a good time. Maybe they just needed a break from screens.
But then came day four.
I was wiping crumbs off the counter when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Annie.
And it sent a chill down my spine.
“Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. It’s my only chance.”
My heart stopped. My hands started shaking. I didn’t call. I didn’t text. I didn’t even tell my husband. I grabbed my keys, jumped in the car, and sped off like the tires were on fire.
Save them? From what?
My mind ran wild. I pictured accidents, bullying, locked doors… I was scared out of my mind.
I screeched into Candace’s driveway and didn’t bother parking straight. I flung the car door open and ran straight to the backyard gate.
What I saw stopped me in my tracks.
Dean—my 8-year-old—was on his knees, scrubbing the tiles around the pool with a huge scrub brush.
Annie was dragging a big, heavy black trash bag across the lawn. Her little arms looked tired, and her face was red from the sun.
And Mikayla? She was lounging like a queen on a pool chair, sipping orange juice from a mason jar, legs crossed, scrolling her phone like she was at a spa.
Then I noticed something on the patio table: a clipboard.
I walked over slowly, heart pounding. The paper clipped to it had neat handwriting and smiley faces drawn on it.
Annie & 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 the bathroom sink and toilet
- Wipe kitchen counters
- Take out garbage & sort recycling
- Skim and vacuum the pool
- Make lemonade for outdoor guests
- Help with evening BBQ (if Mikayla has guests)
I blinked at it, stunned.
This wasn’t summer fun.
This was child labor.
Candace appeared behind me, all fake smiles.
“Oh! You’re early! Everything okay? You look… grumpy?”
She saw where I was looking and laughed.
“Oh, the chore list? Your kids offered to help. Isn’t that sweet? They wanted to earn their pool time.”
Then Annie stepped forward, her voice barely a whisper.
“We didn’t offer, Mom. Aunt Candace said if we didn’t do the chores, she’d take our money and make us sleep in the garage.”
The garage. My kids—eight and ten years old—being threatened with sleeping on the concrete floor of a garage.
My fists clenched. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I wanted to scream. Cry. Flip over that stupid pool chair.
Instead, I forced myself to breathe.
“Pack your stuff,” I told Annie and Dean. “We’re leaving right now.”
They didn’t even ask questions. They ran inside like they’d been waiting to be rescued.
“Where are your phones?” I asked once we were inside.
“She locked them in her bedroom safe,” Dean said. “Said we were too distracted to work.”
Work. My babies were working.
I handed Annie the car keys.
“Go start the car. I’ll get your phones.”
Candace was in the kitchen, rambling excuses the second I walked in.
“It was just a system! They like helping! It builds character! Kids need responsibility—”
“Not another word,” I said, my voice like ice. “Give me their phones. Now.”
She actually flinched. Her face went pale. Without a word, she walked to her bedroom, got the phones, and handed them over.
I didn’t say goodbye.
I drove away with my kids sitting silently in the back seat like little statues. It broke my heart.
But I wasn’t done.
The next morning, I sent Candace an invoice:
Labor Services Rendered
2 children x 3 days work = $600
Breakdown:
Dishes, bathroom cleaning, pool maintenance, garbage removal, lemonade service, laundry, BBQ prep, etc.
Note:
If unpaid, I will send photos of Mikayla relaxing while my kids cleaned her mess to your book club group chat.
One hour later? Full payment on Venmo.
I took that $600 and did something unforgettable.
We went to the amusement park. For two full days.
Cotton candy for breakfast. Roller coasters until we were dizzy. Funnel cake for lunch. Zero chores. Just fun.
“Mom, this is way better than that pool,” Annie said, chocolate ice cream smeared on her chin.
“Yeah! And we don’t have to clean anything!” Dean yelled, spinning in circles on the grass.
That night, snuggled on the couch with pizza and a movie, they finally told me the rest.
Mikayla had friends over every day—loud, messy, spoiled kids. My children had to clean up after all of them. They weren’t guests. They were servants.
“Aunt Candace kept saying we should be grateful,” Annie whispered. “That we were learning responsibility.”
No. What they learned wasn’t what Candace planned.
They learned their mom would always come when they needed help.
They learned that work should always be respected—and paid.
They learned that some adults lie, but the right ones protect you.
Candace called three times that week. I ignored every call. She texted, messaged, and even posted on Facebook that I was “overreacting.”
Overreacting?
She turned my kids into housekeepers and called it “help.”
But she made one mistake.
She thought I wouldn’t notice.
She thought I wouldn’t fight.
She thought wrong.