When my sister-in-law Candace invited my kids, Annie (10) and Dean (8), to spend a week at her mansion—with its pool, trampoline, and endless treats—I thought it was a dream. I packed their bags, slipped them each $150, and even gave Candace’s daughter Mikayla the same. They hugged me goodbye, excited for what I imagined would be a magical summer week.

For three days, I heard nothing. Not a selfie, not a text. Candace assured me they were having “a blast,” so I let it slide—until day four, when Annie sent a chilling message: “Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. It’s my only chance.” I drove straight over, heart pounding, and what I saw in the backyard froze me in place.

Dean was scrubbing pool tiles on his knees. Annie was dragging a heavy trash bag. Mikayla lounged poolside, sipping juice. On a clipboard nearby was a list of chores: sweeping bedrooms, dishes, laundry, cleaning bathrooms, taking out trash, and prepping for Mikayla’s BBQs—all “for pool access + 30 minutes of cartoons.” Annie whispered that Candace had threatened to take their money and make them sleep in the garage if they refused.

I told my kids to pack. Dean revealed their phones were locked in Candace’s bedroom safe “to avoid distractions.” I demanded them back and left without another word. The next morning, I sent Candace an invoice—$600 for three days of child labor—warning I’d share photos with her friends if she didn’t pay. She Venmo’d me within an hour.

I spent every cent taking my kids to an amusement park for two days—cotton candy for breakfast, roller coasters, and no chores. That week, they learned something real: their mom will always protect them, and work deserves respect—and pay.