My Aunt Fought for Custody of My Brother — But I Knew Her True Motives

I became an adult the day after I buried my parents. Someone attempted to take the only family I had left, not because I turned eighteen. And I had no intention of allowing that to occur.

I never anticipated that, at the age of 18, I would have to deal with the most difficult part of my life: the burial of both of my parents, leaving me to raise my six-year-old brother Max, who still believed that Mommy was simply on a lengthy vacation.

Even worse, it was my birthday on the day of the funeral.

“Happy 18th” was said as though it had significance.

It didn’t.

Cake wasn’t what I wanted. Gifts weren’t what I wanted. Max kept asking, “When’s Mommy coming back?” and I just wanted him to stop.

I knelt at the grave and muttered to him, “I won’t let anyone take you,” while we were still dressed in black. Never.”

However, I suppose that plan wasn’t accepted by everyone.

Aunt Diane gave me a mug of cocoa that I hadn’t requested and remarked, “It’s for the best, Ryan,” in a tone of phony concern.

We were invited more than a week after the funeral by her and Uncle Gary. We took a seat at their ideal kitchen table. They both made sympathy expressions at me as Max played with his dinosaur stickers.

Diane touched my arm and whispered, “You’re still a kid,” as if we were pals. “You are unemployed. You’re still enrolled in classes. Max needs a routine, direction, and a house.

Uncle Gary added, “A real home,” as if they had practiced the phrase.

I chewed the inside of my cheek till it bled as I looked at them. Three years in a row, these were the same folks who failed to remember Max’s birthday. They were the same ones who skipped Thanksgiving due to a “cruise.”

And they wanted to have children now?

I learned that they had applied for custody the following morning. I realized then that this wasn’t a problem.

This was a tactic. I had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. Diane adored Max, which is why she didn’t want him.

There was another reason she desired him.

And I was going to discover what. I refused to let them prevail.

I entered the college office and withdrew the day after Diane filed for custody. I was asked if I was certain. Before they could finish the phrase, I said, “Yes.” Learning could wait. My brother was unable to.

I took on two jobs. Throughout the day, I was the person that would arrive with bags of food and always have a smile on my face, regardless of how unpleasant the client was. Ironically, I cleaned law offices at night while preparing for my own legal struggle.

We left our family’s house. I was no longer able to afford it. Rather, Max and I crammed ourselves into a tiny studio apartment that smelled like stale takeout and floor cleaner.

One wall was touched by the futon, and the other by the mattress. Nevertheless, Max grinned in spite of everything.

One night, he wrapped a blanket around himself like a burrito and observed, “This place is tiny but warm.” “It smells like pizza… and home.”

I nearly broke when I heard those words. However, they also sustained me. I submitted the legal guardianship paperwork. I was aware of my youth. I was aware of the odds. However, I also knew that Max needed me, and that had to be worth something.

Then one morning everything went to hell.

“She’s lying.” Staring at the Child Services report in my hands, I stood motionless in the living room.

“She said what?” My voice was hollow as I whispered.

The social worker avoided making eye contact with me. “She says you don’t bother Max. which you yell at him. because you’ve struck him a number of times.”

I was unable to think or speak. Max’s face was all I could see, along with the way he cuddled up next to me during thunderstorms and the way he laughed when I made crazy voices. I’d never harm him.

However, Diane had sowed doubt. And uncertainty can be harmful.

She was unprepared for our neighbor, Ms. Harper, a former third-grade teacher who kept an eye on Max while I worked double shifts. Wearing a pearl necklace that sparkled like armor and holding a manila envelope, she strode into court as if she owned the place.

Without hesitation, she pointed at me and remarked, “That boy is raising his brother with more love than most parents give their kids in a lifetime.”

With narrowed brows, she turned to face the judge and added, “And I’d like to see anyone try to say otherwise.”

It wasn’t easy to win in court, but we were saved by Ms. Harper’s testimony. Diane was given supervised visits instead of permanent custody, as agreed by the judge. It was enough to breathe again, even though it wasn’t a complete victory.

I had to drop Max off at Diane’s house every Wednesday and Saturday. Every time, it made my stomach turn, but I didn’t want to give them another reason to question me, so the court ordered it.

I arrived a bit earlier than normal one Wednesday night. It was too quiet in the house. With that tight smile that she always wore while she was acting like a human, Diane answered the door.

Max came running to me with tears streaming down his face and blotchy cheeks.

He gripped my hoodie like it was his lifeline and whimpered, “She said if I don’t call her Mommy, I won’t get dessert.”

I bent over and combed his hair back. “You never have to call anyone Mommy but Mom,” I said to him. His lip trembled as he nodded.

After putting him to bed later that evening, I went outside to remove the rubbish. I didn’t intend to listen in. However, I heard Diane’s voice, sharp, arrogant, and resonating from a speakerphone as I passed the side of the building close to her kitchen window.

“Gary, we have to move more quickly. The state will distribute the trust fund once we have custody.”

I went cold.

A trust fund? Max has a trust fund, which I was unaware of.

I hurried back inside and dug for half the night after waiting until the line died. As I read the materials, my hands began to shake. Prior to their tragedy, our parents established a $200,000 fund for Max’s life, college, and future.

Diane also desired it.

I returned the following evening. Same window, same location. I pressed record on my phone this time. Gary’s voice came through. “We can send Max to boarding school or whatever once the funds are in our account. He can be a pain.

The sound of Diane’s laughter made my skin crawl. “All I want is a new vehicle. and perhaps that trip to Hawaii.”

With my heart beating like a drum in my ears, I halted the recording.

I sent it to my attorney the following morning.

Max looked up from his coloring book when I entered his room after breakfast.

He said, “Is the bad part over?”

For the first time in weeks, I grinned.

“It’s about to be.”

Diane entered the final custody hearing as if she were on her way to a church picnic. She had a tin of handmade cookies poised in her hands, a pearl necklace shining, and lips pushed into an overly broad smile. She even gave the bailiff one.

The truth was a little more persuasive when my lawyer and I arrived.

As my lawyer hit play, the judge, a severe woman man, listened in silence. Like a black cloud slinking through the walls, the sound engulfed the courtroom.

“Gary, we have to move more quickly. The authorities will release the trust fund after we are placed under custody.

Gary then said, “We can send Max to boarding school or something once the money hits our account.” He can be a pain.

Slowly, the judge’s expression went from courteous to disdainful, as if someone were flicking a dimmer switch. The room fell silent like a noose when the recording came to an end.

The judge finally replied, “You manipulated this court,” in a tone as icy as stone. “And used a child as a pawn for financial gain.”

Diane had lost her smile. Her lipstick appeared to be cracked. Gary’s hands quivered in his lap. In addition to losing the custody dispute, they were reported for attempted fraud right away. I observed the cookies being silently put aside without being touched.

The judge gave me complete legal guardianship of Max that afternoon. According to her, I will even be given consideration for housing assistance because of my “exceptional effort under challenging circumstances.”

Max gripped my hand so tightly outside the courthouse that I felt like he might never release it.

His voice was calm yet little as he questioned, “Are we going home now?”

As usual, I knelt next to him and brushed his hair back. “Yeah,” I replied, barely able to contain my tears. “We’re going home.”

We passed Diane as we descended the stairs. Her mouth curled in a sour frown, her makeup ruined. She remained silent.

She was not required to.

Two years have passed. In addition to attending online college classes, I work a full-time job. Max is doing well in the second grade.

In his own words, I am his “big bro and hero.” We still giggle at bad bedtime stories, still fight over what movie to watch, and still live in the same small apartment.

I’m not flawless. However, we are secure. We are at liberty. We are who we are.

Since love cannot be quantified in years or money. In the battle, it is measured.

Max said to me today, “You never gave up on me,” and I told him that was all that mattered.

“I will Never.”