When my daughter was born, I was drowning—recovering from a c-section, battling postpartum depression, and running on no sleep. My sister offered to “help,” but it quickly became clear she didn’t see herself as just an aunt. She constantly pushed me aside to grab my baby, corrected how I held her, and even joked to friends that she was “practically the mom.”
The breaking point came when I woke from a nap to find my baby gone. Panic shot through me until I discovered my sister in another room, rocking her with the door locked. When I confronted her, she brushed it off with, “You were so tired, I thought I should just take her for a bit.” But the look on her face told me something darker—like she thought she had some claim over my child.
I told her she was no longer welcome in my house. She hasn’t spoken to me since. My parents say I was “too harsh,” but they don’t understand. I will burn every bridge necessary to protect my daughter. She’s mine, and I won’t let anyone—family or not—cross that line.
