I Asked My Daughters to Watch Their Little Brother for 2 Hours – An Hour Later He Begged Me to Come Home

For just two hours, I trusted my girls to look after their ailing younger brother while I attended to a work-related problem. I knew something was seriously wrong when he contacted me pleading with me to come home. When I hurried back, I learned something that caused me to reevaluate all I believed to be true about my girls.

I never imagined having to choose between my kids.

Allow me to explain. I have three children and am 45 years old. Both of my children, Kyra and Mattie, are currently in their twenties. They recently graduated from college with degrees that they don’t appear to be able to apply. After their apartment contract fell through and the job market ate them up, they returned home five months ago.

Then there is Jacob, my seven-year-old son. Before he came into my life, I had no idea that he would become the source of my happiness.

My first marriage produced the girls. Twelve years ago, their father and I went through a divorce, and to be honest, it was not pleasant. For years, they believed him when he portrayed me as the antagonist in their tale. After the breakup, they decided to live with him.

I always felt like a visitor in my own daughters’ lives when I spent weekends and holidays with them.

I met William four years after the divorce. After years of feeling inadequate, he was patient, compassionate, and all I needed. Jacob was born a year after we were married. William felt a deep affection for that boy.

However, my daughters? William was never given an opportunity. That was ensured by their father. He told them falsehoods about William, the reason our marriage failed, and the “selfish” mother I had become.

When they visited, the girls were courteous but aloof and chilly. Not because they wanted to, but because they had to, they put up with William.

Their father covered their rent when they left for college. It was the one thing he always did. However, he remarried his coworker last year. My daughters were not at all liked by his new wife. He stopped paying their rent within months, and the fighting began almost immediately.

They gave me a call at that point.

Kyra had called me and said, “Mom, we need help,” in a tiny voice I hadn’t heard since she was a child. “Dad cut us off. We cannot afford the apartment anymore, and we do not have jobs yet. Can we stay with you? Just until we get on our feet?”

What should I have said? They were my daughters. So, even though I was devastated by William’s deteriorating health, I said yes.

The mourning was intense and cruel when he lost his fight with cancer. I’m still trying to figure out how it drained me. He owned the house where we now reside. It contains his memory in every way. Every day, Jacob inquires about his father, and I have to put aside my own sorrow in order to support him.

It was during this nightmare when the girls arrived. They attended William’s burial with deference. They gave me a hug and spoke consoling words. However, I could tell that their eyes were peaceful. They were glad that William was no longer there.

I convinced myself it was just in my head. You see things that are not there because of that anguish. However, I knew in my heart that I was mistaken.

On the day they moved in, Mattie had stood in the hallway with two bags and a forlorn look on his face, asking, “Mom, where do you want these boxes?”

“Just take the two rooms upstairs on the left,” I said. “Make yourselves at home.”

Curious, Jacob had peered around the corner. “Are Kyra and Mattie staying forever?”

“For a little while, buddy,” I said, stroking his cap. “Isn’t it nice? To have your big sisters around?”

He did not smile, but he did nod.

It was weird living with my daughters once more. Even though they were now adults, they nearly instantly reverted to their adolescent habits. While I juggled job, money, and a distraught seven-year-old who still sobbed for his father at night, they slept until noon, left dishes heaped in the sink, and spent hours browsing through their phones.

I didn’t make many requests of them. I didn’t demand that they pay for groceries or charge them rent. All I requested was that they show some consideration and accept the existence of their younger sibling.

However, they didn’t. Not at all.

Yes, they were courteous. “Good morning,” they said. Every now and then, they inquired about school. However, there was no sincerity or warmth. They grinned broadly and made excuses to leave the room whenever Jacob attempted to show them his drawings or share his day with them.

It hurt. God, it was painful to see my son make such an effort to establish a relationship with his sisters, only to encounter ignorance and indifference.

One night, while I was putting him to bed, he asked me, “Why don’t Kyra and Mattie like me?”

My heart broke. “They do like you, sweetheart. They are just… going through a hard time right now.”

“Because of Dad?”

I gave him a forehead kiss. “Yeah, baby. Because of Dad. Their dad. Not William.”

It was simpler than telling him the difficult and unjust reality. The fact that he was born made his sisters angry. They blamed William for breaking our family, even though my previous marriage had ended long before William came into the picture. Jacob represented everything they had lost to them.

He was only a child, though. A gentle, sensitive youngster who still thought the world was good, liked dinosaurs, and asked too many questions. He wasn’t worthy of their aloofness.

“Maybe they will warm up,” I said to myself. “Maybe they just need time.”

I waited for them. For months. However, nothing altered. And everything fell apart two days ago.

Jacob was pale and unsteady when he woke up with a fever and waves of nausea. After calling him in sick to school, I put him on the couch with his favorite cartoons playing quietly and blankets piled around him. At least he was sleeping, even though he was miserable.

My phone then rang. There was an emergency at work. A client threatened to cancel their contract because they were upset about a shipment that was delayed. My supervisor wanted me to come in right away and make things right.

I murmured, “I cannot leave Jacob,” as I looked at my son, who was sweating and pallid, curled up under his blanket.

“Sandra, this client represents 30 percent of our revenue. If we lose them, we are looking at layoffs. I need you here.”

I shut my eyes. I couldn’t afford to be laid off. Not right now. Not when I have a mortgage to pay, two unemployed daughters, and a little boy living with me.

I hung up and turned to face Mattie and Kyra, who were in the living room. Mattie was reading a book, and Kyra was browsing through her phone.

“I need you two to watch Jacob for a couple of hours,” I replied. “He is sick. He threw up this morning. He just needs someone to check on him and make sure he is okay. Can you do that?”

Kyra looked up. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“I will be back as soon as I can,” I answered, taking my purse. I knelt down next to Jacob. “Hey, buddy. I have to run to work real quick, but Kyra and Mattie are going to stay with you, okay?”

He gave a feeble nod. “Okay, Mom.”

“If you need anything, just call for them. They will be right here.”

Guilt-ridden, I kissed his forehead and walked away. I had faith in my daughters. I ought to have been more aware. An hour later, Jacob texted me, and my phone buzzed:

“Mom, can you come home, please?”

My heartbeat quickened. I called him right away. No response. I gave it another go. Nothing has changed.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Are you okay?” I texted back.

Another text came through: “I threw up again and I called for Kyra and Mattie but nobody came.”

My chest ached with panic. Jacob was at home with the girls. They were meant to be observing him. The line was busy as I reached for my phone and tried to call Kyra. With trembling palms, I tried Mattie next, but all I received was a busy signal.

I didn’t wait any longer. I stumbled through an apology and excused myself from the client meeting, then turned to my employer and said that I had a family emergency. I quickly ran to my car after grabbing my purse. I sped up my car and drove home, going over all the horrible scenarios in my head.

What would happen if he choked? What would happen if he fell? What if something happened and they were not there?

With my pulse thumping, I rushed through the front door. “Jacob?!”

“Mom!” he said in a tiny, frightened voice from upstairs.

I walked the stairs two at a time and found him in his room, seated on the floor by his bed. He had tears in his eyes and vomit on his shirt.

I fell to my knees and gathered him in my arms, saying, “Oh, baby.” “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I called for them,” he said in a low voice. “I called and called… but they did not come.”

I felt a flash of rage. I said, “Let’s get you cleaned up first, okay?” as I stood up and lifted Jacob with me.

I took him out of his filthy clothes, carried him into the bathroom, and used a cool cloth to wipe his face. He was trembling.

“Where are they, Mom?”

“I don’t know, baby. But I’m going to find out.”

I got Jacob back into bed with a bucket next to him and dressed in fresh pajamas. I headed downstairs after that.

In the backyard garden, I discovered Kyra relaxing on a patio chair while holding her phone tightly. In the kitchen, Mattie was idly loading the microwave with something.

With my voice trembling, I screamed, “Where the hell were you?”

Kyra was shocked and looked up. “Mom? You were supposed to be at the…”

“Jacob was calling for you. He threw up. He was crying. He texted me because neither of you bothered to check.”

From the kitchen, Mattie entered. “We were here the whole time.”

“Then why did not you answer him?”

On the defensive, Kyra responded, “I did not hear him,” “I was down here.”

Then Mattie said, “And I was using the blender,” “The kitchen appliances were loud. I could not hear anything.”

I gazed at them. “You could not hear him? He was screaming for you.”

Kyra yelled, “We are sorry, okay?” “We did not mean to miss him. It was an accident.”

I wanted to think they were real. I wanted to, God. However, there was something off about their dismissive and casual tone.

I said, “Did he text you?”

They looked at each other. “No,” Kyra replied.

“Show me your phones.”

Mattie said, “Mom, come on,” while rolling her eyes.

I insisted, “Show me your damn phones,”

They handed them up reluctantly. I started by reading Kyra’s messages. It was there. “Kyra I threw up. Can you please help me?” was the text message that Jacob sent me twenty minutes before I left my office.

They read the message. However, no answer was received.

Mattie’s phone opened. “Mattie, I need help. I am scared.” The same thing.

Go ahead and read. No answer.

I shook my hands and glanced up at them. “You read his messages. You knew he needed help. And you did NOTHING.”

Starting with “Mom, we were busy,” Kyra said.

“Busy? He is seven years old. He was sick and scared and crying for you… and you ignored him. You let him suffer.”

When Mattie remarked, “You are being dramatic,”

“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you deliberately ignored your little brother when he needed you most. And do you know why? Because you hate his father. Because you cannot let go of your resentment long enough to show basic human decency to a child.”

Kyra shot back, “That’s not fair,” her voice cracking.

“What’s not fair is that Jacob lost his father five months ago and instead of having sisters who support him, he has you two. You’re pathetic. Both of you.”

Mattie’s expression contorted. “You’re putting all this responsibility on us like we’re the parents. We did not sign up for this.”

“I asked you to watch him for two hours. TWO HOURS. That’s not parenting. That’s basic human kindness. And you could not even do that.”

Kyra defended the statement, “We said we were sorry,”

“Sorry does not cut it. You have one week to find somewhere else to live.”

Both of them froze.

“What?” said Mattie in a whisper.

“You heard me. One week. Pack your things and get out.”

Kyra protested, “Mom, you can’t be serious.” “Where are we supposed to go?”

“I don’t care. Figure it out. You are adults. You have degrees. You will manage.”

“You’re being worse than Dad’s wife,” Mattie spit out.

“Good. Maybe she had the right idea.”

Kyra started crying and broke down. “You’re choosing him over us.”

“No. I’m choosing not to let my son be neglected and mistreated in his own home. There’s a difference.”

They looked at me with disbelief. Mattie then snatched up her phone and hurried upstairs. Kyra moaned as he followed her.

My heart was racing as I stood by myself in the living room.

Two days have passed. I haven’t heard from them since. They are cold and silent, their doors closed, moving through the house like ghosts. I am aware that they are attempting to make me doubt myself and feel bad.

And perhaps a piece of me does. They are my daughters. I adore them. I hope they’ll be alright.

However, if I have self-doubt, I go upstairs and see Jacob. He is now better. He’s quieter, though. He no longer inquires about his sisters.

He crawled into bed next to me last night and said, “Mom?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Are Kyra and Mattie leaving because of me?”

My heart ached once more. “No, sweetheart. They are leaving because of some choices they made. Not because of you. This is not your fault.”

I don’t know if he believed me, but he nodded.

I’m not sure if I made the correct decision. I’m not sure if I’m being too severe. However, I am certain that I will not allow my son to feel unwelcome in his own house as he grows up. I refuse to allow anger and resentment to contaminate the one remaining place of safety for him.

I’m asking you, then. Am I mistaken? Was I overreacting? Or, when I saw that my children were willing to inflict pain on a seven-year-old out of spite, did I do what any mother would do?

Tell me. I need to know if I just committed the worst mistake of my life because I’m currently drowning in doubt.