My sister is 33, a single mother raising three children, each from a different father. Life has never been easy for her, and I tried my best to support her however I could. For over a year, I babysat her kids four days a week—completely unpaid—so she could work and stay afloat. I thought I was helping her rebuild. I never expected what would happen next.
One afternoon, her five-year-old son tugged at my sleeve and said quietly, “Auntie, I saw Mommy hide your shiny money box under the couch.” At first, I smiled, assuming it was part of his usual imagination. But then I froze.
There was no way he could’ve known about that silver box. I kept it hidden in the back of my closet, behind blankets. For over a year, I had been stashing away any extra money—$20 here, $50 there—saving toward a used car. No one knew about it. Or so I thought.
While the kids napped, I quietly checked my room. The closet door creaked open. The box was gone.
I texted my sister.
Me: “Hey, did you move my silver box from the closet?”
Her: “What box? No idea what you’re talking about 🤷♀️”
Continue reading on next page…