When my nieces mocked my daughter by hanging her first set of bras for the world to see, they thought it was just a joke. But when it comes to my child, I don’t take anything lightly. It was time they learned a lesson they’d never forget.
The moment I held my daughter Eva in my arms for the first time, I knew I’d do anything to protect her. Thirteen years later, that feeling hasn’t changed one bit. Sure, she’s growing up fast, but to me, she’ll always be that little girl taking her first wobbly steps, her tiny hand gripping my finger for support.
The day Hurricane Helene tore through our town, everything changed. My sister Hazel’s house took the brunt of it, leaving her and my nieces, Lily and Sophie, without a home. My wife Nancy and I didn’t hesitate to offer them shelter. It seemed like the right thing to do. We’re family, after all.
But family or not, I laid down some ground rules the day they moved in.
It wasn’t even a week before Eva came storming into the kitchen, her face flushed with anger.
“Dad, they’ve been in my room again! My new eyeshadow palette is ruined, and my favorite dress is missing!”
I felt my jaw clench. “Are you sure, sweetie?”
“Of course, I’m sure! I found Lily wearing my dress, and there are greasy fingerprints all over my makeup!
“Girls,” I said, looking Lily and Sophie in the eye, “you’re welcome here, but I need you to respect our space. Especially Eva’s room… that’s off-limits unless she invites you in.”
They nodded, all wide-eyed innocence. I should’ve known better.
