When Trust Between Family Shattered

I thought I could trust my daughters for two hours. Just enough time to handle a work emergency while they watched their sick seven-year-old brother, Jacob. But when his text arrived—“Mom, can you come home please?”—I knew something was terribly wrong.

I rushed back to find him upstairs, curled beside his bed, covered in vomit and tears. He whispered, “I called and called… they didn’t come.” My heart broke.

Kyra and Mattie, both in their twenties, shrugged off their neglect. They had read his messages but ignored them. Their excuses—that they “didn’t hear him”—rang hollow. I had asked for two hours of care, and they couldn’t give that to their little brother.

These aren’t strangers. They are my daughters from my first marriage—a marriage poisoned by bitterness and loyalty battles. They moved back home after college, just months after my husband William died. I let them in, hoping grief might soften hearts. Instead, it hardened them.

That night, I gave them one week to leave.

Because Jacob deserves safety. He deserves love. And I refuse to let my son grow up believing he is a burden—even if it means choosing him over the daughters I raised.