At my daughter Chloe’s sixth birthday, I, Janice, wanted a simple celebration—bouncy castle, hot dogs, and cake. But my sister-in-law, Paula, made it her stage. Dressed like she was attending a wedding, she hogged attention, claiming to be Chloe’s “bonus mom.” Despite my efforts to keep the peace, Paula crossed a line by presenting Chloe with the doll I’d saved months to buy, stolen from my closet. Chloe, expecting my gift, cried in confusion. Furious, I confronted Paula, who dismissed it as “redirected with love.” I’d had enough. In front of everyone, I
exposed her theft and kicked her out, declaring she wasn’t family for stealing and lying. Scott backed me, banning Paula until she apologizes. She left, slamming the gate, and later painted herself as the victim online. Chloe, wise beyond her six years, knew I’d planned to give her the doll and was proud I stood up to Paula. That moment, holding my daughter, I knew I’d done right. Protecting her meant being the bad guy in Paula’s story—and I’m fine with that.
