My Kids Went to a Mansion for Fun—But Ended Up as Servants
When my sister-in-law Candace invited my kids to stay at her mansion for a week—with a giant pool, video games, snacks, and endless fun—I truly thought it was a dream come true.
Candace lived in a massive six-bedroom house on ten acres of land. I imagined my 10-year-old daughter Annie and 8-year-old son Dean jumping into her sparkling resort-style pool, laughing on the trampoline, and playing hours of PlayStation 5 with their cousin Mikayla.
Mikayla, my 12-year-old niece, had everything money could buy—but she was bored out of her mind all summer. It seemed perfect. She needed company, and my kids needed a break. Win-win.
“That sounds amazing,” I told Candace, already picturing their packed bags. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Not at all!” she replied, all cheer and warmth. “Mikayla needs friends around. You’d be doing us a favor.”
A favor? That sealed it. I smiled, my heart light and happy. My kids were going to have the kind of summer memories every child deserves.
“Great! I’ll drop them off on Friday.”
I packed everything with love—swimsuits, their favorite snacks, even handed each of them $150 for treats and goodies. I didn’t forget Mikayla either. When I dropped them off, I quietly slipped her $150 too, because fairness mattered to me.
“Always say thank you with actions, not just words,” my mom used to say. I tried to live by that.
When we arrived, Annie threw her arms around me. “Thanks, Mom! This is going to be the best week ever!”
Dean was already glued to the sliding doors, watching the pool sparkle in the sun. “Can we swim now?”
Candace laughed. “Unpack first! Fun later!” She smiled and called, “Mikayla? Show your cousins to their rooms, please?”
Mikayla waved them in. “Follow me, guys!”
“Text me everything!” I called after them. Annie turned and gave me a big thumbs-up before disappearing inside.
As I drove off, I felt good. My kids were going to have a magical week, and I could relax a bit. I never guessed I had just walked them straight into a nightmare.
For three whole days—nothing. No texts. No selfies. No memes. Nothing from either of them.
Kids basically live on their phones, so the silence was weird. Dean might have gotten distracted by games, but Annie? She was usually responsible. She always texted—even just a silly emoji.
Something in my stomach twisted. I sent Candace a message, trying to keep it light: “How are my babies doing?”
Her reply came fast: “Oh, they’re having SUCH a blast! Pool, candy, cartoons—it’s a kid paradise here!”
I imagined them cannonballing into the pool, staying up late under fairy lights. Maybe they were just having that much fun and finally unplugging. So I told myself to chill.
Then came day four.
I was wiping crumbs from the kitchen counter when my phone buzzed. I smiled when I saw Annie’s name light up. But then I read the message.
And I froze.
“Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. It’s my only chance.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I didn’t call. I didn’t text back. I didn’t even tell my husband.
I grabbed my keys, jumped in the car, and drove faster than I ever had before. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel the entire 25-minute drive.
Save them? From what? My brain played every scary scenario like a horror movie.
I parked crooked in her driveway—who cares about parking when your kids are calling for help?—and stormed through the backyard gate.
I stopped cold.
Dean was down on his knees, scrubbing the pool tiles with a brush way too big for him.
Annie was dragging a large black garbage bag across the lawn, huffing under the weight like a tired janitor.
And Mikayla? She was lounging on a pool chair like a queen, sipping orange juice from a mason jar and scrolling on her phone.
I looked over at the patio table and saw a clipboard.
What I read made my blood turn to ice.
Annie and Dean’s Daily Chores (For Access to Pool + 30 Min Cartoons):
- Sweep & 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 BBQ if Mikayla has friends over
🙂 🙂
This wasn’t a playdate. This was child labor.
Candace appeared behind me, completely unfazed.
“Oh! You’re early!” she said cheerfully, like nothing was wrong. “Everything okay? You look… grumpy?”
She followed my eyes to the clipboard and chuckled.
“Oh, those chores? Your kids offered to help! Isn’t that sweet? They wanted to earn their pool time!”
That’s when Annie stepped out from behind her.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “We didn’t offer, Mom… Aunt Candace said if we didn’t work, she’d take the money you gave us and make us sleep in the garage.”
The garage.
She threatened to lock my children—my babies—in a garage if they didn’t scrub and mop her mansion.
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To protect my kids with every bone in my body.
Instead, I said, “Pack your stuff. We’re leaving. Now.”
They didn’t argue. They ran. Fast. Like they’d been waiting for me to come save them.
“Where are your phones?” I asked as we packed.
“She locked them in her bedroom safe,” Dean said. “She said we were too distracted to work.”
Work. They were eight and ten. And they were working.
I handed Annie the car keys. “Get in the car. I’ll get your phones.”
I walked into the kitchen, where Candace started rambling like crazy.
“It was a fun system! They like helping! It builds character! I was just trying to help!”
“Not another word,” I snapped. My voice was ice. “Candace, I am this close to doing something I’ll regret. Give me the phones. Now.”
She flinched. Maybe it was my voice. Or my eyes. Whatever she saw, she handed me the phones without a fight.
I left without looking back.
My kids sat silent in the back seat the whole ride home—wide-eyed, quiet, processing.
But I wasn’t done.
The next morning, I sent her an invoice.
Labor Services Provided:
2 children x 3 days of work = $600
(Tasks included: Dishes, bathroom cleaning, pool maintenance, trash removal, lemonade service, BBQ prep, etc.)
Note:
“If you don’t pay, I’ll start by sending photos of your daughter lounging while mine cleaned her sticky cups to your book club group chat.”
Guess who Venmo’d me in full an hour later?
I used every cent to give my kids the vacation they deserved.
We went to the amusement park for two full days.
Cotton candy for breakfast. Roller coasters till we were dizzy. Funnel cakes for lunch. Ice cream for dinner. No chores. No rules. Just fun.
“This is way better than that pool,” Annie said, chocolate ice cream dripping down her chin.
“Yeah, and we don’t have to clean anything!” Dean cheered, spinning on the grass.
That night, snuggled on the couch with pizza and movies, they finally told me the worst part.
Mikayla had friends over every day—for pool parties, barbecues, and sleepovers.
And my kids? They cleaned up after them like hired help.
“Aunt Candace said we should be grateful,” Annie whispered. “That we were learning responsibility.”
No. What they learned was far more important.
They learned that their mom would always show up.
They learned that real work deserves real respect.
And they learned that while some adults lie and take advantage—the right ones will always protect you.