I babysit my nieces often, but one night they arrived hungry and dirty. When I asked my sister Sarah if everything was okay, she just muttered that she’d had a rough week and shut the door in my face.
During dinner, the oldest looked up at me and asked, “Auntie… can we stay with you forever? We’re happier here.”
My heart sank.
Later that night, as little Lucy slept on my lap, Mia whispered, “Mom talks to people we don’t know… and they get loud.”
I hadn’t realized how serious things had become. Sarah always insisted she was fine, but the girls’ tired eyes told a different story.
The next morning, I gently brought it up. She became defensive at first, but her voice soon cracked. “I’m doing my best… things haven’t been easy.”
Over the next few weeks, the girls asked to stay over more often, sharing small details that painted a worrying picture. I knew Sarah was struggling—and the girls were caught in the middle.
So I reached out for help.
We found a family counselor who gave Sarah a safe space to talk about her stress, work pressures, and personal issues she’d been hiding.
Slowly, things began to change. The house grew calmer. The girls laughed more.
One weekend, Mia squeezed my hand and smiled.
“Thanks for helping Mom, Auntie. Our house feels happy again.”
