The day after I buried my parents—on my 18th birthday—I promised my six-year-old brother, Ollie, I’d protect him. But a week later, Aunt Melissa and Uncle Ray filed for custody, claiming I was too young. I knew something felt off—especially from relatives who’d always treated Ollie as an afterthought.

I dropped out of college, took two jobs, and filed for guardianship. Melissa tried to sabotage me, accusing me of abuse. Thankfully, our elderly neighbor Mrs. Jenkins testified in my defense, keeping Ollie with me—but with supervised visits at Melissa’s.

One day, Ollie whispered Melissa made him call her “Mommy” or lose dessert. Later, I overheard her on the phone: “Once we get custody, the trust fund will be released.” I had no idea about the $200K fund meant for Ollie.

I recorded them plotting to send him to boarding school and buy luxury items. At the final hearing, we played the audio. The judge was furious—Melissa and Ray lost custody and were reported for fraud. I was granted full guardianship.

Two years later, Ollie’s thriving. I work full-time and study at night. We share a small place, silly arguments, and pizza Fridays.

It’s not perfect. But it’s real, and it’s ours.

And I’ll never let anyone take him.