I walked closer. Ellie looked up at me, lip trembling, and said, “She locked it, Mommy. I told her I didn’t wanna play anymore.”

I looked down. The latch was actually shut.

I turned back to Kelsie, heart pounding, fists clenched—and that’s when she said something that made my stomach twist even harder.

“Well, she was being dramatic, and I didn’t want to encourage that behavior.”

My ears rang.

You didn’t want to encourage that behavior?

I knelt down to open the crate, and Ellie practically leapt into my arms, clutching my neck so tightly I felt her nails dig in. She was still sniffling. Her twin, Max, just stared—wide-eyed, unsure if he was in trouble or not.

I looked at Kelsie again. She hadn’t moved. Still leaning on the kitchen counter, still scrolling her phone like this wasn’t completely insane.

“You locked a four-year-old in a crate?” I said, my voice low and shaking.

“She needed a time out,” Kelsie shrugged. “It’s not like she was in danger.”

 

I was dumbfounded. For a second, I honestly didn’t know what to say. My mind ran through a thousand reactions—yelling, calling the police, dragging her out by the ponytail. But I had two kids watching me, and Ellie was still holding on like she was afraid I’d let go.

So I took a deep breath, grabbed my phone, and snapped a photo of Ellie’s face—her puffy eyes, her red cheeks, and the open crate behind us. Then I calmly told Kelsie to get her things and leave.

“You’re done here,” I said.

She scoffed like I was the overreacting one, muttering something about how parents these days are too soft.

I didn’t reply. I just waited for her to walk out, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind her, I sat on the couch and held Ellie and Max close.

Neither of them said much for the rest of the day.

That night, after they were asleep, I sent the photo and a detailed message to the babysitting agency she came from. They replied within an hour, horrified, and assured me she’d be removed from their roster immediately.

But something still didn’t sit right.

The next morning, I called Ellie’s preschool teacher. I asked her if Ellie had ever mentioned anything odd before—if she’d ever said something about being scared at home. The teacher hesitated.