My SIL Invited My Kids to Her Big House With a Pool for the Holidays, When I Showed Up Unannounced, I Went Pale

When my sister-in-law Candace called and invited my kids to spend a week at her lavish home, I thought it was the perfect opportunity for them. Her six-bedroom mansion sat on ten acres of land, with a sparkling resort-style pool, a trampoline, and even the latest gaming consoles. My daughter Annie, ten, and my son Dean, eight, lit up when they heard the news. It sounded like a dream come true, especially since Candace’s twelve-year-old daughter Mikayla was often lonely during the long summer days.

I imagined my children splashing in the pool, laughing late into the night, and making the kind of summer memories every parent hopes for their kids. Candace reassured me that it would be no trouble at all, that in fact, my children’s company would be doing her a favor. Grateful, I packed their swimsuits, their favorite snacks, and gave each of them $150 for treats. To be fair, I slipped Mikayla the same amount, just to keep things even.

When we arrived, Annie hugged me tightly, whispering how excited she was. Dean, wide-eyed, immediately pressed his nose against the glass doors, eager to dive into the pool. Candace laughed, saying they’d have to unpack first. Mikayla took them upstairs, and Annie gave me a thumbs-up as they disappeared inside. I drove away smiling, believing I had just handed my kids a magical summer week. Little did I know, I had sent them into something far darker.

The first day passed with no word from them. The second day too. By the third, I began to worry. Kids practically live on their phones—especially Annie, who was usually quick to send a selfie or a text. Yet my phone stayed silent. When I asked Candace about them, she gushed that they were having the time of their lives, swimming and playing nonstop. I let her reassurances soothe my nerves, thinking maybe they were just too busy to check in.

But then came the fourth day.

That morning, I received a text from Annie. My hands shook as I read the words that pierced my chest: “Mom, come save us. Aunt took away our phones. This is my only chance.”

I didn’t waste a second. I jumped in my car and sped the entire twenty-five minutes to Candace’s house, my mind swirling with dread. What could she mean? Save them from what?

When I arrived, I stormed through the backyard gate—and froze.

Dean was kneeling by the pool, scrubbing tiles with a brush far too heavy for his small hands. Annie was dragging a garbage bag across the lawn, her face red with strain. And there was Mikayla, lounging in the sun, sipping juice from a mason jar like a queen at her throne, tapping lazily on her phone.

On the patio table sat a clipboard. When I read the paper pinned to it, my blood ran cold.

It was a list titled “Annie and Dean’s Daily Chores (For Access to Pool + 30 Min Cartoons).” The tasks included mopping bedrooms, washing dishes, folding laundry, scrubbing toilets, wiping counters, hauling garbage, skimming the pool, preparing lemonade for guests, and helping with barbecues. In exchange, they’d earn a little bit of pool time and half an hour of cartoons. At the bottom of the list, Candace had drawn two cheerful smiley faces, as if mocking the cruelty.

I could barely breathe. My children weren’t on vacation. They were being used as servants.

Candace appeared behind me, all smiles, pretending not to notice my clenched fists. She laughed when she saw me staring at the clipboard. “Oh, don’t worry. The kids offered to help! Isn’t it sweet? They wanted to earn their privileges.”

But then Annie’s small voice broke the lie. “We didn’t offer, Mom. She said if we refused, she’d take our money and make us sleep in the garage.”

My heart shattered. The garage. My babies, threatened with being locked away like animals if they didn’t scrub floors and clean up after parties. Rage bubbled inside me, but I forced myself to stay calm. I called Annie and Dean inside and told them to pack their things immediately. They didn’t hesitate; they had clearly been waiting for rescue.

When I asked about their phones, Dean admitted Candace had locked them away in her bedroom safe, saying they were too “distracted to work.” I left the kids packing and marched straight into the kitchen, demanding the phones back. Candace tried to excuse herself with nonsense about “building character” and “teaching responsibility.” I cut her off cold. My voice shook with fury as I warned her not to speak another word and handed over the phones. She flinched, realizing she had pushed me to my limit.

I walked out without another glance, my kids trailing silently behind me. We drove home in tense quiet, the weight of what they had endured sinking in. But I wasn’t finished.

The next morning, I sent Candace an invoice: “Labor Services Provided: 2 children x 3 days of work = $600.” I itemized every chore they had performed and added a note: “If you don’t pay, I’ll share photos of your daughter lounging while mine scrubbed her cups, starting with your book club.”

An hour later, the money appeared in my account. I spent every cent on my kids. Two full days at the amusement park, where they ate cotton candy for breakfast, rode roller coasters until they were dizzy, and laughed until they forgot. No chores, no threats, no fear. Just freedom.

As we collapsed on the couch that night with pizza and movies, Annie murmured that the worst part wasn’t just the chores. Mikayla had hosted friends every day—pool parties, barbecues, sleepovers—and my kids were made to clean up after them, too. Candace had told them they should be “grateful for the experience.”

Grateful. For exploitation.

Candace called and texted multiple times that week, sending apologies, excuses, and even claiming I was overreacting. I ignored them all. She had stolen my children’s vacation and replaced it with labor. She thought I wouldn’t notice or that I’d be too polite to make trouble. But she was wrong.

My kids learned an important lesson that summer, though not the one Candace intended. They learned that their mom will always come when they call. They learned that their time and effort have value. And most importantly, they learned that no one—not even family—has the right to take advantage of them.