When my sister-in-law invited my kids to stay at her mansion for a whole week, I thought I had just been handed the golden ticket of summer.
Candace, my husband’s sister, lived in a six-bedroom palace sitting on ten acres of land. It had a pool that looked like it belonged at a resort, a trampoline big enough for flips, and every video game system you could think of—including a shiny PlayStation 5.
I pictured my ten-year-old daughter Annie and my eight-year-old son Dean having the time of their lives—swimming until their fingers wrinkled, bouncing high into the air, and playing games until bedtime.
Their cousin Mikayla, who was twelve, had every toy, gadget, and outfit money could buy but was bored out of her mind every summer. To me, this was perfect.
When Candace first called, she sounded cheerful.
“Send them over! Mikayla could use company. Honestly, you’d be doing us a favor.”
I hesitated for a second. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Not at all! They’ll love it here,” she promised.
Something warm filled my chest. I thought, Yes. My kids deserve this kind of magic summer.
“Great! I’ll drop them off Friday,” I said, already imagining their happy faces.
That week, I carefully packed their swimsuits, stuffed extra snacks into their bags, and gave each of them $150 for fun. I even slipped another $150 to Mikayla when I dropped them off so things would be equal. My mom always taught me, Say thank you in actions, not just words.
When we arrived, Annie hugged me tightly. “Thanks, Mom. This is going to be the best week ever!”
Dean pressed his face against the glass doors, his eyes fixed on the shimmering pool. “Can we swim right now?”
Candace laughed. “Get unpacked first! Mikayla, show your cousins to their rooms, please?”
Mikayla nodded, and Annie gave me a thumbs-up as she followed her brother inside. I smiled, waved goodbye to Candace, and drove off feeling light and happy.
If only I had known. I hadn’t just dropped my kids off for fun—I had sent them into a nightmare.
For three whole days, I didn’t hear a single word from Annie or Dean. Not one text, not one funny meme, not even a blurry pool selfie. That was strange. My kids practically lived on their phones, especially Annie, who was usually good about sending updates.
My stomach began to twist.
On day three, I finally texted Candace. Her reply was instant:
“Oh, they’re having SUCH a blast! Pool, candy, cartoons—it’s kid paradise over here!”
I pictured my kids splashing in the pool and giggling under twinkly lights at night. Maybe they were just too happy and distracted to call me. So I told myself to stop worrying.
But then came day four.
I was wiping crumbs off the kitchen counter when my phone buzzed. Annie’s name lit up the screen, and my heart skipped in excitement. Finally!
But the message froze my blood.
“Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. It’s my only chance.”
I didn’t text back. I didn’t call Candace. I didn’t even tell my husband. I just grabbed my keys, jumped in the car, and sped off like my kids’ lives depended on it.
The whole 25-minute drive, my hands shook on the steering wheel. Save them from what? My mind spun through every horrible scenario.
When I finally pulled into Candace’s long driveway, I parked crooked and bolted straight to the backyard.
And that’s when I froze.
My son was kneeling beside the pool, scrubbing tiles with a brush far too big for him. My daughter was dragging a heavy garbage bag across the yard, her little arms straining.
And there, lying like a queen on a lounge chair, was Mikayla. She sipped orange juice from a mason jar, tapping happily on her phone while my kids worked like servants.
But what made my jaw clench was the clipboard on the patio table.
I picked it up, and my stomach turned to stone.
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
- Skim and vacuum pool
- Make lemonade for outdoor guests
- Help with evening BBQ (if Mikayla has guests)
At the bottom were two smiley faces, as if this was a cute little game.
My hands curled into fists. This wasn’t fun. This was child labor.
Just then, Candace strolled out, smiling like everything was perfectly normal.
“Oh! You’re early! Everything okay?” She looked at me curiously. “You look… grumpy?”
My eyes flicked to the clipboard.
She laughed. “Oh, those chores? The kids offered to help! Isn’t that sweet? They wanted to earn their pool time.”
But then Annie appeared behind her. Her face was pale, and her voice was barely a whisper.
“We didn’t offer, Mom. 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? My heart dropped like a stone.
I wanted to scream, to throw the clipboard in her face, to grab the umbrella pole and… No. Not here. Not in front of the kids.
I took a deep breath and said tightly, “Pack your bags. We’re leaving. Now.”
Annie and Dean didn’t ask a single question. They bolted inside and stuffed clothes into their bags with lightning speed, as if they’d been praying for this moment.
“Where are your phones?” I asked.
Dean’s voice was small. “She locked them in her bedroom safe. Said we were too distracted to work properly.”
Work. My eight- and ten-year-old had been working like maids.
I handed Annie the car keys. “Get to the car. I’ll get your phones.”
Candace was in the kitchen, already babbling excuses.
“It was just a fun system! They like helping! Builds character! Kids these days need—”
“Not another word,” I snapped. My voice shook with rage. “Candace, I am this close to doing something I’ll regret. Give me their phones. Now.”
Her smile cracked. She saw my face and knew I meant it. Silently, she handed them over.
I walked out without looking back. My kids sat quietly in the backseat, staring at their knees like they were processing a bad dream.
But I wasn’t finished. Not even close.
The very next morning, I sent Candace an invoice:
Labor Services Provided:
2 children × 3 days of work = $600
I itemized everything: dishes, laundry, pool cleaning, trash removal, lemonade service, BBQ prep. At the bottom I added a little note:
“If you don’t pay, I’ll share photos of your daughter lounging while mine cleaned up her cups. I’ll start with your book club group chat.”
One hour later, my phone buzzed. Candace had paid me in full via Venmo.
Every single dollar went to my kids. I took them to the amusement park for two days straight. They rode roller coasters until they were dizzy, ate cotton candy for breakfast, stuffed themselves with funnel cake, and laughed until their sides hurt.
As Annie licked melted chocolate off her ice cream cone, she said, “Mom, this is way better than that pool.”
“Yeah!” Dean shouted, spinning in the grass. “And we don’t have to clean anything!”
That night, sprawled on the couch with pizza and movies, they told me the worst part:
Mikayla had invited friends over every single day. Pool parties, barbecues, sleepovers. And Annie and Dean had to clean up after all of them.
“Aunt Candace kept saying we should be grateful,” Annie murmured. “That we were learning responsibility.”
Responsibility. That was her excuse for exploitation.
Candace called three times that week. I didn’t pick up. She texted, apologized, begged, even sent a Facebook message saying I was “overreacting.”
Overreacting? She had stolen my kids’ summer. She had turned them into housekeepers. She thought I’d never find out—or worse, that I wouldn’t dare stand up to her.
She thought wrong.
My kids did learn something that summer—but not what Candace intended.
They learned that when they call me, I’ll always come.
They learned that fair work deserves fair pay.
They learned that some adults lie, but the right adults will always protect them.
And most of all, they learned that no one—no matter how rich, how fancy, or how manipulative—gets to take away their childhood.