I worried about Jessie from the day she arrived. She missed early milestones, and Codie sped past her.

Then Jessie started stealing. She pocketed toys, snacks, even small household items. Worse, she lied about it at three.

Soon, playtime stopped feeling safe. One afternoon in the garden, Jessie seriously hurt Codie. Jessie acted like it was funny, and I froze.

At school, she pushed other kids away. Assessments showed she sat behind her age group. Still, my worry ran deeper than grades.

By fifteen, things spiraled. Jessie ran off to a boyfriend, then called police on us. I felt like I’d lost my daughter.

At twenty, Jessie had Madilyn. I hoped motherhood would soften her. Instead, Karen and I did most of the parenting.

Jessie moved in with Karen and wore her down. She snapped, threatened, and treated help like an insult. Social services offered little, even as the home grew tense.

Then Codie rang, sobbing. Karen was dead. Police mentioned a robbery, but nothing fit.

Days later, Jessie’s boyfriend handed over a blood-stained hammer. Police arrested Jessie soon after.

So what’s the “solution” now? I trust my instincts early. I document patterns, push for serious assessments, and set hard boundaries. Most of all, I protect the siblings who still need peace.