The day I turned eighteen, I was burying my parents and holding the small hand of my six-year-old brother, Max. With no other family I could count on, I made a silent promise at their grave: I would protect Max no matter what. But soon after, my Aunt Diane and Uncle Gary invited us over, suggesting Max would be better off living with them. A week later, they filed for custody. It felt more like strategy than love\u2014and I had a gut feeling something wasn\u2019t right.<\/p>\n
I put my life on hold, dropping out of college and picking up two jobs to care for Max. We moved into a tiny apartment, barely making ends meet, but filled with warmth and effort. I filed for guardianship, even as my aunt falsely accused me of neglect. Thankfully, our kind neighbor\u2014who looked after Max while I worked\u2014stood by me in court, helping to limit Diane\u2019s access to supervised visits only.<\/p>\n
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