When my sister-in-law invited my kids to spend a week at her sprawling, luxurious home, I thought it sounded perfect — a summer break filled with pool days, trampoline fun, and endless gaming. She mentioned her daughter, Mikayla, was bored and would love the company. It felt like a win-win. I happily packed my kids’ bags, even slipping in money for treats so they could enjoy themselves without worry.
For the first three days, the silence was unusual. My kids normally text or call me nonstop, but this time — nothing. When I checked in, my sister-in-law reassured me they were swimming and having fun. I tried to believe her.
But on the fourth day, my daughter sent a short, desperate text: “Come save us.”
My heart dropped. I drove straight over without warning her.
When I arrived, the scene made my blood boil. My son was crouched in the hot sun, scrubbing pool tiles. My daughter was dragging an oversized garbage bag to the curb. Meanwhile, Mikayla — the host — was lounging by the pool, scrolling on her phone as if she were royalty.
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