When My Aunt Tried to Take My Brother, the Truth Finally Came Out…

The day after I laid my parents to rest, my childhood ended. Not because I turned eighteen, but because the world suddenly expected me to stand on my own while protecting the only family I had left—my six-year-old brother, Max. He still believed our mother was away on a long trip, and every time he asked when she was coming back, it felt like my heart broke all over again.

The funeral fell on my birthday, a detail people awkwardly acknowledged as if it mattered. It didn’t. All I wanted was to keep my promise to Max, whispered quietly at the graveside, that no one would ever take him away from me.

A week later, that promise was tested. My aunt and uncle invited us over under the guise of concern, speaking softly about “what was best” for Max. They said I was too young, still in school, without stability.

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