The Summer My Sister-In-Law Turned My Kids Into Her Servants — But She Regretted It Fast
When my sister-in-law, Candace, offered to host my kids at her giant mansion for a whole week—with a sparkling pool, video games, and every treat imaginable—I honestly thought I hit the jackpot.
She lived in a six-bedroom house on ten acres of land, surrounded by nature, fun, and luxury. It sounded like a dream summer break, especially for my ten-year-old daughter, Annie, and eight-year-old son, Dean.
Her daughter, Mikayla, who was twelve, had everything money could buy—gadgets, games, clothes—but she was bored out of her mind all summer. Candace said Mikayla was lonely and would love some company. I thought, Perfect!
“That sounds amazing,” I told her on the phone, practically smiling through the speaker. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”
“Not at all!” Candace chirped. “Mikayla needs friends around. You’d be doing us a favor.”
Her words warmed my heart. My kids deserved this kind of happiness—fun in the sun, laughter, treats, and a week away from screens and routines.
“Great! I’ll drop them off on Friday,” I said, already mentally packing swimsuits and sunscreen.
That Friday, I loaded their favorite snacks, packed their clothes, and even handed each of them $150 for treats. I also gave Mikayla $150 when we arrived—just to be fair. That’s what my mom always taught me: Say thank you through actions, not just words.
As I pulled into Candace’s long driveway, the kids bounced in their seats.
“Thanks, Mom! This is going to be the best week ever!” Annie squealed, giving me a tight hug.
Dean was already leaning over the seat, eyes locked on the pool glistening behind the sliding doors. “Can we swim right now?!”
Candace laughed. “Get unpacked first!” she smiled. “Mikayla? Show your cousins to their rooms, please?”
Mikayla nodded and led Annie and Dean inside. Just before disappearing into the house, Annie turned and gave me a big thumbs-up.
I smiled the whole drive home. I imagined them doing cannonballs, roasting marshmallows, and staying up late giggling under fairy lights.
But I had no idea I’d just left them in a nightmare.
Three full days passed. Not one photo. No messages. No “Look at me!” selfies. Not even a meme.
That might sound small, but you know how kids are with their phones. Especially Annie. She always sent updates. It was weird. Something felt…off.
I finally texted Candace to check in.
“Oh, they’re having SUCH a blast!” she replied quickly. “Pool, candy, cartoons—it’s a full-on kid paradise here!”
I forced myself to believe her. Maybe they were just unplugging for once. Maybe they were happy.
But then came day four.
I was brushing off some crumbs from the kitchen counter when my phone buzzed.
Annie.
Relief flooded my chest, but it disappeared the second I read her message:
“Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. It’s my only chance.”
My hands dropped the dish rag.
I didn’t call. I didn’t ask questions. I just grabbed my keys and ran out the door.
My tires screeched out of the driveway, and my hands were trembling the entire 25-minute drive. My heart pounded so loud it was hard to think.
Save them? From what?!
When I pulled into Candace’s driveway, I didn’t even care about parking straight. I jumped out of the car and went straight for the backyard.
And what I saw made my stomach twist.
Dean was on his knees, scrubbing the pool tiles with a giant brush. His little hands moved slowly like they were sore.
Annie was dragging a massive black trash bag across the lawn. She looked exhausted.
Mikayla? She was lying on a lounge chair with sunglasses on, sipping orange juice from a mason jar, scrolling through her phone like a queen on vacation.
And then I saw the clipboard.
It was sitting on a patio table next to her like it was some kind of boss’s schedule.
I walked over and read the sheet of paper clipped to it.
“Annie and Dean’s Daily Chores
(For Access to Pool + 30 Min Cartoons)”
My eyes scanned the list, and my jaw dropped:
- Sweep and mop all bedrooms
- Do dishes and dry
- Fold laundry (all 3 bedrooms)
- Clean bathroom sink and toilet
- Wipe kitchen counters
- Take out the garbage & sort recycling
- 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. Like this was some kind of cute activity chart.
I couldn’t breathe. My skin went ice cold. My hands clenched into fists.
This wasn’t a vacation. This was forced labor.
“Oh! You’re early!” Candace walked out like sunshine and rainbows. “Everything okay? You look… grumpy?”
She noticed me staring at the clipboard and gave a little laugh. “Oh, the chores? Your kids offered to help… isn’t that sweet? They wanted to earn their pool time!”
That’s when Annie appeared behind her. And I’ll never forget the look in her eyes—tired, ashamed, defeated.
“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.”
The garage. My babies. Sleeping in the garage as punishment.
I couldn’t even look at Candace. Not when we were standing near a lounge chair and a deck umbrella—because honestly, I didn’t trust myself not to swing something.
Instead, I turned to Annie and Dean.
“Pack up your stuff,” I said through my teeth. “We’re leaving right now.”
No questions. They moved like lightning, tossing clothes into bags, running on instinct.
“Where are your phones?” I asked.
“She locked them in her bedroom safe,” Dean mumbled. “Said we were too distracted to work.”
Work. My eight and ten-year-old kids were being treated like employees.
I handed the car keys to Annie. “Go. Get in the car. I’ll get your phones.”
I stormed into the kitchen. Candace tried to smile, but her face dropped fast.
“It was just a fun system!” she stammered. “They like helping! It builds character! Kids these days need structure—”
“Not another word, Candace.” My voice came out sharp and steady. “I am this close to doing something I’ll regret. Just give me their phones. Now.”
She blinked. Then slowly, silently, walked to her bedroom, opened her safe, and handed them to me.
I didn’t say goodbye.
I didn’t look back.
I drove away with my kids, who sat in the backseat like they’d just escaped prison. Their little faces were pale and quiet, their eyes staring out the window, trying to process everything.
But I wasn’t finished. Not even close.
The next morning, I sent Candace an invoice.
Labor Services Rendered:
2 children x 3 days = $600
I listed everything: dishwashing, laundry, pool cleaning, trash removal, BBQ prep. I even wrote a little note at the bottom:
“If you don’t pay, I’ll post photos of Mikayla lounging while Annie cleaned her lemonade cups. I’ll start with your book club group chat.”
Guess who Venmo’d me within the hour?
Every cent of that $600 was spent on my kids.
Two full days at the amusement park. No chores. No rules. Just joy.
They ate cotton candy for breakfast, rode roller coasters until they couldn’t stand straight, had funnel cake for lunch, and skipped through the grass with sticky fingers and big grins.
“This is way better than that pool,” Annie giggled, chocolate ice cream dripping down her chin.
“Yeah, and we don’t have to clean anything!” Dean shouted, twirling around.
That night, while we were snuggled on the couch with pizza and cartoons, they told me everything.
Mikayla had friends over every day for pool parties, barbecues, and sleepovers. And my kids? They were cleaning up after all of them.
“Aunt Candace kept saying we should be grateful for the experience,” Annie said quietly. “She said we were learning responsibility.”
Responsibility? That wasn’t a lesson. That was abuse.
Candace tried to reach out—called three times. I didn’t answer.
She texted excuses. I deleted them.
She even messaged me on Facebook, saying I was overreacting and that “kids need chores” and she was just trying to help.
Help?
No. She tried to use my children. She stole their vacation and made them her staff. She thought I wouldn’t find out. She thought I’d stay quiet.
But she thought wrong.
That summer, my kids did learn something.
They learned that when they call for help, I’ll always come.
They learned that real work deserves real respect.
They learned that some adults lie, but their mom? She’ll always protect them.
And as for Candace?
She learned that I am not the one to mess with.