I brushed it off. Mom was strict, sure, but she believed in responsibility. A few chores wouldn’t hurt. But then the resistance started. Olivia began crying on Sunday nights, terrified of Monday morning.

Mommy, please don’t make me go,” she begged one rainy morning, clutching my scrub top. “My stomach hurts. I think I’m sick.”

Baby, you don’t have a fever,” I said, checking her forehead, rushing to find my keys. “You get to play with your cousins! It’ll be fun.”

I didn’t see the terror in her eyes. I only saw the clock ticking down to my shift. I trusted them. That was my sin. I trusted the people who shared my blood to protect the person who shared my heart.

The truth trickled out in disturbing fragments. Olivia mentioned that Tyler called her “Garbage Girl” because she didn’t have a dad. She mentioned that while the cousins played video games, she had to vacuum the stairs. When I confronted Hannah about it, she laughed, a brittle, dismissive sound.

Oh, Megan, stop being so dramatic,” Hannah said, swirling her iced coffee. “Kids tease. It builds character. Olivia is just… sensitive. She needs to toughen up if she wants to fit in.”

I should have screamed. I should have taken my daughter and never looked back. But I was tired, broke, and desperate for the childcare. I convinced myself it was just sibling rivalry.

Then came that Tuesday in March. The day the sky fell.