When my sister-in-law offered to host my children at her mansion (complete with a pool, games, and endless candy), I thought it was a dream come true. But after several days of silence and a chilling text from my daughter, I showed up unannounced… and what I saw in her backyard left me absolutely shocked.
When my sister-in-law called to invite my children to spend a week at her luxurious home, I thought it was a great idea.
A woman smiling during a phone call | Source: Unsplash
Candace lives in a sprawling six-bedroom home on ten acres. I pictured my ten-year-old daughter and eight-year-old son splashing around in the resort-style pool, jumping on the trampoline, and playing PlayStation 5 with their cousin.
My twelve-year-old niece had everything money could buy, but she was bored stiff all summer. This seemed perfect for all our children.
A luxury house with a pool | Source: Unsplash
“Sounds amazing,” I said, mentally packing my bags. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Not at all! Mikayla needs friends around her. You’d be doing us a favor.”
Something warm blossomed in my chest. My children deserved this kind of summer magic.
“Great! I’ll take them on Friday.”
A woman talking on her cell phone | Source: Pexels
So I packed their swimsuits, their favorite snacks, and gave them each $150 for whatever they needed. I even gave Mikayla $150 when I dropped them off, because I felt like it was okay to keep things equal.
Always give thanks with actions, not just words; that’s what my mother taught me.
My daughter hugged me tightly as she got out of the car. “Thanks, Mom. This is going to be the best week of my life.”
A smiling girl | Source: Unsplash
My son was already staring at the pool through the sliding glass doors. “Can we swim right now?”
“Unpack first!” Candace replied, laughing. She smiled at me. “Looks like you’re ready to have some serious fun. Mikayla? Show your cousins to their rooms, please.”
Mikayla nodded and motioned for Annie and Dean to follow her inside.
“Write to me and tell me everything,” I told them as they rushed inside.
A woman waves from a vehicle | Source: Pexels
Annie smiled and gave me a thumbs-up just before disappearing from my sight. I said goodbye to Candace and left with a smile, thinking about how much fun Annie, Dean, and Mikayla would have the following week.
I never suspected that I had just sent my children into a nightmare.
A woman driving a car | Source: Unsplash
For three days, I didn’t hear from Annie or Dean. Not a meme, not a call, not even a blurry pool selfie.
You know how kids are with phones, right? They thrive on that stuff. But my phone stayed silent. Dean might have been distracted by the PS5 and the trampoline, but Annie was usually more responsible.
I started to get an empty feeling in my gut.
A worried woman | Source: Unsplash
When I texted my sister-in-law on the third day, she quickly responded: “Oh, they’re having SO much fun. Pool, candy, cartoons; it’s a kid’s paradise!”
I imagined jumping in the pool and laughing at night under the colorful lights. Maybe they were finally unplugged and happy. So I let the silence pass.
Then the fourth day arrived.
An astonished woman | Source: Unsplash
I was brushing crumbs off the kitchen counter when my phone buzzed. Annie’s name lit up on the screen, and my heart did that little leap it always does when someone contacts me.
But the message was just a few words. Words that hit me like a freight train:
“Mom, come save us. Aunt took our phones. It’s my only chance.”
A woman holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
I didn’t call her, or Candace, or my husband.
I ran straight to my car, tires squealing as I pulled off the road. My hands shook for the entire 25-minute drive.
Save them? From what? My mind raced through all the terrible situations, but nothing prepared me for what I found myself in.
A car speeding down a highway | Source: Unsplash
I parked crooked in the driveway (who cares about parking when you have to save your kids?) and stormed to the back door.
Then I froze.
My son was on his knees scrubbing the pool tiles with a brush that seemed too big for his little hands.
A scrub brush | Source: Pexels
My daughter was dragging a heavy black garbage bag across the lawn as if she were working as a maintenance man at some resort.
Meanwhile, Mikayla was lounging on a pool lounger, tapping her phone while sipping orange juice from a mason jar like she was pool royalty.
But the real slap in the face came when I saw the clipboard on the patio table.
A clipboard on a table | Source: Pexels
I stared in disbelief at the paper pinned to the clipboard.
Annie and Dean’s daily chores (for pool access + 30 minutes of cartoons):
Sweep and mop all rooms
Wash the dishes and dry them
Fold clothes (all 3 bedrooms)
Clean the bathroom sink and toilet
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
Clean kitchen countertops
Take out the trash and sort the recyclables
Clean and vacuum the pool
Making lemonade for guests outdoors
Help with the evening barbecue (if Mikayla has guests)
And right at the end, Candace had drawn two smiley faces.
A shocked woman | Source: Unsplash
My skin froze and I clenched my fists. This wasn’t a playdate. This was child labor!
“Oh! You’re early! Is everything okay?” My sister-in-law came out all beaming and smiling, as if she hadn’t just destroyed my trust in humanity. “You seem… grumpy?”
He followed my eyes to the clipboard and laughed.
A laughing woman | Source: Pexels
“Oh, chores? Your kids offered to help… isn’t that thoughtful? They wanted to earn their pool time.”
Then my daughter appeared behind her, and I saw something in her eyes I’d never seen before: defeat.
“We didn’t volunteer, Mom,” she whispered. “Aunt Candace said if we didn’t work, she’d take the money you gave us and make us sleep in the garage.”
A sad-looking girl | Source: Pexels
The garage? Had he threatened to send my children to sleep in a garage if they refused to work?
I didn’t even dare look at Candace, much less say anything to her. Not when we were so close to a lounge chair, the large umbrella that protected Mikayla from the sun, and a myriad of objects I could hit her with.
An umbrella and sun loungers placed near a pool | Source: Pexels
Instead, I beckoned to Annie and Dean and led them inside.
“Grab your things,” I told them. “We’re leaving right now.”
My children didn’t even ask any questions. They moved quickly, stuffing their clothes into their bags as if they’d been waiting for this moment.
“Where are your phones?” I asked.
A woman resting her hand on her hip | Source: Pexels
“He locked them in the safe in his room,” my son said. “He said we were too distracted to work properly.”
Work. Eight and ten years old, and they worked as employees.
I handed the car keys to Annie. “Put your things in the car and wait there. I’ll get your phones.”
Car keys | Source: Pexels
Candace was in the kitchen. She started spouting excuses like water from a broken dam as soon as I walked in.
“It was just a fun system! They like to help! It builds character! Kids today need structure.”
“Not another word,” I growled. “Candace, I’m this close to doing something I’d regret, so please don’t tempt me anymore. Give me my kids’ phone numbers. Now.”
An angry woman yelling at someone | Source: Unsplash
He flinched. I don’t know what he looked like at that moment, but he must have realized I was serious, because he handed me his phones and watched me walk away in complete silence.
I didn’t look back. I just walked away with my children, who sat quietly in the backseat as if processing a trauma.
But I wasn’t done. Not even close.
A woman driving | Source: Pexels
The next morning, I sent him an invoice.
Labor services provided: 2 children x 3 days of work = $600.
I detailed everything. The dishes, the bathroom cleaning, the pool maintenance, everything related to the garbage, and the attention to their guests. I even added a note.
“If you don’t pay, I’ll share photos of your daughter relaxing while mine cleaned the lemonade glasses. I’ll start with your book club group chat.”
A woman holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
Guess who Venmoed me an hour later?
I used every last cent of that money to take my kids to the amusement park. Two days in a row.
They ate cotton candy for breakfast, rode roller coasters until they were dizzy, ate cake for lunch, and didn’t do any homework.
An amusement park | Source: Unsplash
“Mom, this is so much better than that pool,” my daughter said, the chocolate from her ice cream cone smeared on her chin.
“Yeah, and we don’t have to clean anything!” my son added, spinning in circles on the grass.
That night, as we collapsed on the couch with pizza and movies, they told me the worst.
Close-up of a pizza | Source: Pexels
Mikayla invited her friends over every day for pool parties, barbecues, and sleepovers. And my kids had to clean up after themselves, too.
“Aunt Candace kept saying that we should be grateful for the experience,” my daughter murmured. “That we were learning to be responsible.”
As if having to go to such lengths to get into the pool was a life lesson.
My sister-in-law called three times that week. I never answered.
A mobile phone | Source: Pexels
She sent me messages of apologies and excuses. I deleted them all. She even sent a Facebook message saying I was overreacting, that the kids needed homework, and that she was trying to help.
Help . He called exploitation “help.”
He turned my children into servants. He stole their vacations and gave them jobs. He thought I wouldn’t notice, or maybe he thought I’d be too polite to make a fuss.
He was wrong.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Pexels
My children learned something valuable that summer, but not what she intended.
They learned that their mother will always come when they ask for help. They learned that fair is fair, and that work deserves its reward. They learned that some adults lie, but the right adults will always protect them.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not the author’s intention.
The author and publisher do not guarantee the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters, and are not responsible for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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