After burying my parents, I became an adult at 18, not by age, but to protect my six-year-old brother, Max, from being taken away. The day of their funeral was my birthday, but celebration was far from my mind—Max kept asking when Mommy would return. At their graves, I promised to keep him safe. But my Aunt Diane and Uncle Gary, who barely remembered Max’s birthdays, filed for custody, claiming I couldn’t provide a stable home. I dropped out of college, took two jobs, and moved us into a cramped studio apartment. Max called it “tiny but
warm,” which fueled my resolve. Diane falsely accused me of neglecting and abusing Max, but our neighbor, Ms. Harper, defended my dedication in court, securing me temporary guardianship. When I overheard Diane and Gary plotting to seize Max’s $200,000 trust fund, I recorded them. At the final hearing, the judge, disgusted by their greed, granted me full guardianship and reported them for fraud. Two years later, Max thrives in second grade, and I balance work and online college. We’re safe, together, and unbreakable—because love is measured in the fight, and I’ll never give up on Max.
