At 18, I lost both parents and was left to care for my 6-year-old brother, Max, who still thought Mom was on a trip. The funeral fell on my birthday — a day no one should celebrate under those circumstances.
A week later, Aunt Diane and Uncle Gary, who barely knew us, offered cocoa and fake concern. Then they filed for custody. Not out of love — but for Max’s $200,000 trust fund.
I dropped out of college, picked up two jobs, and moved us into a tiny apartment. Max called it home. I fought for guardianship. Diane fought back with lies — saying I was abusive. But our neighbor, Ms. Harper, stood up for us in court.
Then I overheard Diane say, “Once we get custody, the state will release the trust fund.” I recorded everything and sent it to my lawyer.
At the final hearing, we played the tape. The judge granted me full guardianship and reported them for attempted fraud.
Two years later, Max is thriving. I work full-time and take online classes. We still live small but laugh loud.
When Max told me, “You never gave up on me,” I smiled and said, “I never will.”