When I called CPS on my sister, it wasn’t an easy decision. Her house had always been chaotic, but recently, things seemed worse. The kids looked scared and withdrawn, and there were bruises that couldn’t be explained. I feared the worst and knew I had to act, no matter the cost. But nothing prepared me for what CPS would uncover in her home.  I was woken up one morning by my sister calling me. “Lia! You have to help me,” she sobbed, and I could hear a lot of commotion in the background. “They’re taking my children!” she continued. My stomach dropped, knowing I was the one who had called CPS. “Stay where you are; I’m coming over,” I said, and I grabbed my coat. My heart raced as I drove over to my sister’s house. When I arrived, one of her two children already sat in the CPS car, eyes red from crying. Neighbors had stepped out of their homes to see what was going on, and even the police had arrived. This was not what I had expected would happen when I called CPS on her… My sister ran to me as soon as she saw me step out of my car and flung herself into my arms. “Oh, Lia… I don’t know what to do!” she sobbed, and my heart broke for her. Just as I wanted to calm her down and tell her everything would be okay, an officer walked up to us and began reading my sister her rights! Was she being arrested?! But why did CPS take the kids away? And why was the sister being arrested? The whole reason I even called CPS was because my sister wouldn’t answer any questions about my niece and nephew’s strange bruises. She would come over to my house less and less, and I barely got to see them anymore. She couldn’t blame me for growing worried; she was the one holding something back from me! If only she had told me the truth… I had imagined CPS would go by her house and do a routine check, scaring my sister a little. But I never expected the situation to unfold like this. I stood on her front lawn, watching CPS drive off with her children and my sister fighting with police officers who wanted to take her to the station, but there was nothing I could do. Tears streamed down my face as I yelled at my sister to cooperate and that I would get her kids back for her. She finally calmed down a bit, and the officers got her inside the car. Watching my sister looking at me with her tear-stricken face from a police car was the worst feeling I ever felt, and it was all my fault. How was I ever going to fix this? However, at that point, I had no idea why they had arrested my sister. I thought it was all one big misunderstanding. It was naive of me, to say the least. But in my eyes, my sister was a good person. She might not have been the best mother, but she wasn’t evil. Well, I was about to find out the real reason for her arrest. Wanting to plan my next step, I walked into my sister’s house. I wanted to figure out what the police could have found so incriminating. “Oh my gosh,” were the only fitting words to say after stepping in there. I couldn’t believe my sister had been living like this with her two children! Now I knew why they were taken away, but why did they have to arrest her? The house was filthy, and I quickly realized my sister had become an obsessive hoarder. I recognized nothing in that house; it used to be clean and homey. But now, there wasn’t even a clean path to walk in. My sister had always been very tidy, and a few months ago, she even helped me deep clean my home! How on earth could this have happened? I walked around, for as much as I could, stepping over rotten food and take-out boxes. I noticed at least three fire hazards and I wasn’t even out of the living room yet! It was disgusting, but this surely couldn’t be the reason for her arrest. Her children were well-fed and looked like they regularly showered, so they weren’t that much affected by this living situation… I hoped. As I maneuvered through the debris, a sob from somewhere in the house caught my attention. I stopped and tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. The sound was faint but unmistakable, a cry for help in a sea of chaos. I called out, “Amber? Is that you?” The sobbing grew louder. I needed to find her quickly. My heart pounded as I followed the noise. I followed the sound and found my niece, Amber, huddled in a corner of the dining room. She looked tiny and fragile amidst the clutter. “Amber, it’s me, Aunt Lia,” I said softly, trying not to scare her. She lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen. She was clutching a stuffed animal, her favorite one since she was little. I felt an overwhelming need to protect her. Her eyes were red and swollen as she tried to explain through tears that it had gotten worse after Dad left. “Mom stopped cleaning, and it just kept piling up,” she said, her voice trembling. I hugged her tightly, feeling the weight of her words. “We didn’t know who to ask for help,” she continued. The gravity of the situation was sinking in. Amber needed someone to step in. My heart sank further, realizing that since the divorce, my sister had spiraled into obsessive hoarding. I recalled how her house used to be spotless, a stark contrast to the disarray now. The clutter had taken over, and it seemed to mirror her mental state. Amber’s words replayed in my mind, each one a testament to the neglect they had been living through. This was beyond my worst fears. Amber’s younger brother, Tommy, was with a social worker, looking equally stricken. He glanced at me with wide eyes, silently pleading for reassurance. “Aunt Lia, is everything going to be okay?” he asked. I nodded, trying to muster a smile. “I’m here now, Tommy. We’ll figure this out,” I said, ruffling his hair. The social worker gave me a nod, indicating that they were in good hands for now. I consoled Amber, promising to figure things out and protect her and her brother. “I’m going to make sure you two are safe,” I said, squeezing her hand. She looked up at me with hopeful eyes. “Thank you, Aunt Lia,” she whispered. It was a fragile hope, but it was hope nonetheless. I knew that I had to take actions that would shield them from further harm and confusion. With my sister taken away, I knew I needed more information to understand what went wrong. The house in its current condition was a silent scream for help, but I needed to dig deeper. Why had things deteriorated so rapidly? I couldn’t fathom the pattern that led to this chaos. The only person who might have answers was my sister’s ex-husband, Tom. I decided to reach out to him. I called my sister’s ex-husband, Tom, to get clarity on the situation. The phone rang a few times before he picked up. “Tom, it’s Lia,” I said. There was a pause. “Lia, why are you calling?” he replied, sounding cautious. “I need to talk about my sister and the kids. Her situation is worse than I thought,” I explained. Tom sighed heavily, signaling that this conversation would be difficult. Tom was reluctant to talk at first, claiming he had moved on, but I pressed him about the children. “Tom, they’re not safe. I need to know what happened,” I urged. He hesitated, then finally relented. “Alright, but only because I care about Amber and Tommy,” he said. His initial reluctance faded, replaced by a tone of concern. “I did notice some changes, but I thought she’d manage,” he admitted. He grew solemn as he confessed noticing the changes in my sister right after their separation. “She wasn’t always like this,” Tom said, his voice tinged with regret. “Right after we finalized the divorce, she started collecting things, saying they brought her comfort.” I listened, absorbing every word. “I thought it was a phase, but it seems like it spiraled out of control,” he concluded. His words gave me a clearer picture. Tom admitted he saw signs of emotional distress in the children. “Amber and Tommy would sometimes say they were hungry, like they hadn’t eaten properly in days,” he said. “They’d show up at my place looking so neglected. I wish I had done more.” His words cut deep, and I could see the regret in his eyes. Maybe he had missed the severity of the situation too. He hadn’t imagined things were so dire but acknowledged the situation was alarming. “I thought maybe she needed some time to adjust after the divorce,” Tom explained. “I didn’t think it would get to this point, Lia. The kids were unsupervised, and that’s on me too.” His admission felt like a confession, adding another layer to the grim reality. We both had underestimated the gravity of the situation. His words added another layer to my understanding of the deteriorating conditions. I realized now that my sister had been crying out for help in ways none of us had seen. “I should have paid closer attention,” I responded, feeling a lump in my throat. We stood there in silence, absorbing the weight of our shared realization. The stakes were high, and we were only just beginning to uncover the truth. I thanked Tom, realizing I now had a clearer picture of my sister’s decline. “I appreciate you being honest with me,” I said. He nodded, looking emotionally spent. “Just promise me you’ll do what’s best for the kids,” he urged. I assured him I would. Armed with this newfound understanding, I felt more determined to get to the bottom of things. My sister’s children deserved better. Determined to get to the bottom of this, I sought help from a counselor who had worked with my sister. Maybe someone who knew her well from a professional standpoint could offer insights we lacked. I found Dr. Melanie Pierce, a therapist my sister had seen after the divorce. I called her office and explained the situation. She agreed to meet with me the following day to discuss my sister’s state. Dr. Melanie Pierce agreed to see me the following day to discuss my sister’s state. At her office, she welcomed me with a sympathetic look. “I’ve been worried about her,” Dr. Pierce began. “She stopped coming to her sessions a few months ago.” I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. “Can you tell me more about what she’s been going through?” I asked. She nodded, preparing to divulge what she knew. During our meeting, Dr. Pierce revealed that my sister had been diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety post-divorce. “She was having a hard time coping with the separation,” Dr. Pierce explained. “It seemed like she was losing control over her environment and herself.” Hearing this left me speechless. Depression and anxiety painted a clearer picture of her chaotic behavior and the troubling situation at home. Melanie explained that hoarding was my sister’s coping mechanism to have control over something in her life. “When people feel they have lost control, they sometimes cling to material things,” Dr. Pierce stated. “It became her way of dealing with the emotional pain and anxiety. Unfortunately, it escalated to an unhealthy level.” This insight made the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together in a painful but necessary way. This new insight made the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together. My sister wasn’t simply neglectful; she was struggling with deep emotional issues. “Thank you for helping me understand,” I said to Dr. Pierce, feeling a mix of relief and sorrow. “I just wish I had known sooner.” She nodded. “Now that you know, you can help her and the children in more effective ways,” Dr. Pierce advised. I thanked Dr. Pierce and pondered on how this behavior had affected the children. Their lives had been uprooted and turned chaotic because of their mother’s struggles. I knew I had to act swiftly to provide them the stability they needed. By understanding my sister’s mental health, I could make better decisions for Amber and Tommy. The love for my nephews and nieces pushed me to seek more resolutions. Now more determined than ever, I planned my next steps. My sister’s kids needed a stable environment, and I had to make sure they got it. Keeping the house in its current state was not an option. I decided to clean it up and gather any evidence that would help me understand her condition. I knew this journey was just beginning, and I was ready to face whatever came next. On my way home, my phone buzzed with a message from a neighbor about reporters sniffing around. ‘They’ve been asking questions about your sister and the kids,’ the message read. I felt a surge of anxiety. The last thing we needed was public attention. I quickened my pace, my mind racing with plans to shield Amber and Tommy from the media. They’d already been through enough upheaval. I knew I needed to protect the kids from public scrutiny. Amber and Tommy didn’t deserve to have their lives splashed across the evening news. I immediately thought about calling child protective services to notify them about the media’s intrusion. The goal was to keep the children’s identities and situations as private as possible. Shielding them from this kind of exposure became my top priority. Their lives had already been upheaved enough, and they deserved some peace. I called up my closest family members to let them know what was happening. They assured me they would help in any way they could. I also reached out to the school principal to ensure Amber and Tommy wouldn’t face any additional stress from curious students or teachers. Everyone agreed to keep things under wraps for now. I called a family lawyer to discuss how to proceed with getting custody of Amber and Tommy. ‘It’s a complicated situation,’ he said, listening to my frantic explanation. I felt a bit calmer knowing I was taking legal steps to ensure their safety. ‘We can start the paperwork right away,’ he continued. Taking legal custodianship seemed like the best way to protect them from further instability in their lives. The lawyer mentioned that CPS’s official report would be crucial in this process. Without it, the courts wouldn’t consider transferring custody. He advised me to be patient but proactive. ‘We’ll need every detail they can provide,’ he explained. ‘The more evidence we have, the stronger our case will be.’ His words reassured me, but I knew it would be a long and challenging path ahead. He also noted that my sister’s state of mind would be taken into account. ‘The court will want to know if she’s fit to regain custody at any point,’ he explained. This added another layer of complexity to the situation. I needed to gather medical records and testimonies from professionals who could speak about her mental health. It was an overwhelming task, but one I was committed to completing. The road ahead seemed long and uncertain, but I was determined to see it through. The lawyer’s words echoed in my mind as I planned my next moves. I made a list of things to do, from cleaning the house to contacting CPS. Each step felt monumental, but I knew I had to take them one at a time. I was doing this for Amber and Tommy. The next day, I visited CPS to learn more about their findings. The caseworker recognized me and led me to a small, quiet room. ‘We’ve been working on an initial report,’ she said. I nodded, feeling my heart race. I needed to know every detail. After a few minutes, she handed me a folder. ‘This is our preliminary report,’ she explained. I took a deep breath and opened it. The caseworker handed me a preliminary report, and my heart dropped as I read it. The descriptions of the living conditions were worse than I had imagined. There were notes on the state of the house, the children’s physical and emotional well-being, and my sister’s alarming behavior. I felt a mix of anger and sorrow. This report was vital, but it also painted a grim picture of reality. As I flipped through the pages, it detailed the children’s living conditions, painting a bleak picture. Cluttered rooms with barely any space to move, piles of dirty laundry, and unwashed dishes stacked high. The report noted the lack of a clean, safe environment, highlighting significant concerns for their well-being. I was horrified but not entirely surprised. It was worse than I had imagined, affirming my decision to call CPS. Besides the hoarding, the report pointed out signs of emotional neglect. Amber and Tommy weren’t just living in a physically unhealthy environment; they were also emotionally neglected. The notes mentioned their withdrawn behavior and how they seemed starved for affection and attention. I clenched my fists, anger and sadness mingling. They had been crying out for help, and everyone around them, including me, had missed it. This had to change. Reading further, I realized my niece and nephew had been taking care of themselves more than I had thought. The report detailed how Amber often prepared meals for Tommy, helped him with homework, and even took on responsibilities far beyond her age. Tommy, too, had taken on little tasks to ease their burden. Their resilience was both admirable and heart-wrenching. They deserved a childhood, not this forced maturity born out of necessity. The report didn’t hold any explicit accusations that clearly explained my sister’s arrest. It listed the concerning conditions and neglect but didn’t specify criminal actions. I was left puzzled but also felt a sense of urgency. If this wasn’t enough for them to keep her detained, what was? I needed answers, and fast. Understanding the full scope of the situation was crucial for my next steps, especially for Amber and Tommy’s sake. I left the CPS office with more questions than answers and a heavier heart. As I stepped outside, I took a deep breath, trying to process everything. The murky details and lack of clarity about my sister’s arrest weighed on me. The most pressing issues were the safety and future of Amber and Tommy. I needed to find out what I could do next to secure a stable environment for them. As I stepped outside, a police officer approached me, introducing himself as Officer Chapman. “Ma’am, do you have a moment to discuss your sister’s case?” he asked, his tone professional yet understanding. I nodded, trying to hide my anxiety. “Sure, officer, what do you need to know?” I replied. Officer Chapman motioned towards a nearby bench, indicating we should sit down. I had a feeling this conversation would be important. Officer Chapman asked if I had a moment to talk about my sister’s case. “We’ve been investigating her for a few months now,” he began. His words made my pulse quicken. “Did you notice anything unusual before this?” he continued. “Yes, but I didn’t realize it was this bad,” I admitted. He nodded, scribbling notes. “It’s more complex than just the hoarding and neglect,” he explained, setting the stage for what came next. We walked to a nearby bench, and he explained my sister had been under investigation for several months. “We had suspicions but not enough evidence to act immediately,” Officer Chapman said. “CPS informed us of the living conditions, which escalated things. But her behavior indicated deeper issues.” I listened carefully, every word deepening my understanding. “What kind of behavior are we talking about?” I asked, anxious to gather every detail. Officer Chapman took a deep breath. “The bruises on the children were classified as ‘suspicious’ by their teachers and doctors,” he said, sitting back. My heart sank. “But they never told me,” I muttered. He continued, “It was difficult to determine the cause without solid proof. CPS observations alone couldn’t confirm anything.” I struggled to process this. Those bruises had more sinister origins, and nobody had connected the dots until now. Without solid proof until now, they couldn’t take action. “It’s been frustrating,” Officer Chapman admitted. “We wanted to intervene earlier, but we needed concrete evidence to avoid false accusations.” I nodded, understanding the complexity but still feeling helpless. “So, what changed?” I asked. “CPS’s recent findings gave us what we needed,” he explained. “Her arrest was based on cumulative evidence.” Knowing this was key, but I thirsted for more answers. He confirmed that while the hoarding was severe, it wasn’t criminal enough for an arrest. “We see this frequently,” said Officer Chapman. “Though troubling, hoarding alone isn’t typically grounds for arrest unless there’s imminent danger.” I sighed in relief but remained curious. “So, what led to her arrest then?” I asked. He glanced at his notes and then back at me, contemplating how much to reveal. The air felt thick with unanswered questions. I pressed him for more information, but he said he couldn’t disclose it due to the ongoing investigation. “You’ll find out in due time,” he assured me. My frustration grew. “But this is my sister! I need to know what’s happening,” I pleaded. He shook his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry, but I can’t compromise the investigation.” His firm yet kind tone made it clear that I wouldn’t get more details now. Suspense hung in the air as I revisited the scene at my sister’s house the next day. Walking through the door, I was hit by the familiar yet jarring chaos. The clutter, the stale air, it all seemed to scream for attention. I moved with purpose, determined to find something that could give me clarity. I felt like I was stepping into an unsolved mystery, each item a potential clue. I clambered through the clutter and found Amber’s journal tucked beneath a pile of old clothes. It was a small, worn diary, the kind a teenager might keep. My hands trembled as I opened it, feeling both invasive and desperate. The first few pages were filled with typical teenage musings, but I had a feeling deeper insights were hidden within these pages. This could be the key to understanding. With a pang of guilt, I read through her entries revealing grim details of their daily lives. Each page painted a distressing picture of loneliness and neglect. “Mom didn’t get out of bed today,” one entry read. Another mentioned cold dinners and missed schooldays. The more I read, the heavier my heart grew. It was clear that Amber had been carrying a weight far too heavy for a 15-year-old. Amber and Tommy had been fending for themselves for months, trying to shield their mother. “We manage on our own,” Amber wrote. They had shouldered responsibilities no children should have to bear. Cooking, cleaning, even trying to comfort their mother during her depressive episodes. Their resilience was heart-wrenching. The journal was a testament to their strength, but also a cry for help that had gone unheard for too long. They had grown used to the chaos, but the stress had taken a toll on them. Amber’s notes detailed frequent headaches and Tommy’s constant fatigue. “We’re always tired,” she wrote. It was evident their young lives were marred by anxiety and uncertainty. They deserved better than the chaos they had become accustomed to. Their resilience was admirable, but the toll it had taken was undeniable and heartbreaking. Her entries mentioned odd late-night phone calls and visits from strangers that terrified her. “Mom has been acting weird lately,” one diary entry read, detailing nocturnal disturbances that left Amber scared. Random visits from mysterious people added another layer of fear. “They come late at night, say weird things,” she wrote. This revelation unsettled me deeply, suggesting there might be more to uncover about my sister’s behavior. The plot thickened as I felt like I was peeling back layers of a dark mystery. Each entry seemed to reveal another aspect of their troubling situation. While I couldn’t piece it all together yet, it was clear that something much more sinister was at work here. The late-night visits and frantic entries pointed to more than just emotional neglect. There was something deeper, something dangerous. Determined to gather more clues, I met with the counselor again to discuss the journal’s contents. Dr. Pierce had agreed to see me once more. “These entries are alarming,” I said, laying the journal on her desk. She scanned through the pages, her face growing graver. “This changes things,” she admitted. “We need to look deeper into these late-night calls and visits.” It was just the lead we needed. Dr. Pierce shed light on financial trouble often accompanying severe hoarding and neglect. I recoiled at the thought, realizing my sister’s mental state had likely impacted every aspect of her life. As she continued, a new layer of the situation unfolded. “Financial strains exacerbate these conditions,” Dr. Pierce explained. I nodded, understanding that this wasn’t just about clutter; it was a web of deeper issues. It was becoming clear that financial trouble might be playing a significant role. I recalled the constant bills piling up at my sister’s place. Late notices and unpaid invoices were a regular sight during my visits. I had always thought she was just disorganized, but now it was clear these were indicators of something more severe. Her financial instability wasn’t just a byproduct of her hoarding—it was feeding into the chaos. I knew I had to take a closer look at those ignored bills to understand the full extent of her situation. That evening, I sifted through piles of papers and unopened mail at her house. Each envelope was a potential clue, a small piece of the puzzle leading to understanding her struggles. Recycling bins overflowed with discarded letters and junk mail. I carefully separated bills from trash, creating a mountain of overdue payments. It was overwhelming, but I had to know how bad the financial situation truly was. Every notice and final warning told a story of despair and neglect. I discovered numerous final notices, indicating creditors had been hounding her for months. Electricity, water, and even mortgage bills were months overdue. The notices painted a bleak picture of desperation and financial ruin. Her mailbox was a time capsule of ignored responsibilities, an archive of her declining mental state. Understanding now that her financial troubles were a significant part of her issues, I realized the enormity of the burden she had been under. This needed immediate attention. Amber and Tommy had been trying to handle things themselves to avoid worsening their mother’s state. They sorted through bills, did odd jobs, and even borrowed money from friends to keep the lights on. “Mom’s stressed,” Amber once mentioned, never revealing how deep the struggles went. Their actions were both heartbreaking and heroic. They had taken on adult responsibilities to shield their mother from further stress, but it was clear they were stretched thin and needed help. The realization hit me hard, understanding the true burden my sister had been carrying. Every unpaid bill and ignored notice was a cry for help that went unheard. She had spiraled into financial and emotional despair, dragging her kids along. The mess in her home was a mirror of her tangled life. I needed to step up, not just emotionally but also practically, to help Amber and Tommy. The path ahead was clear: I had to intervene decisively. I contacted the lawyer to update him on the new findings. “This financial situation is worse than we thought,” I explained. He listened carefully, then replied, “This strengthens our case for custody.” We discussed how to use these details in court, emphasizing the need for a stable environment for the kids. His tone was reassuring but firm. With each call and meeting, I felt a step closer to protecting Amber and Tommy from this turmoil. He advised me on the next steps for gaining custody of Amber and Tommy. “We need detailed documentation of the living conditions and financial issues,” the lawyer said. We outlined a plan to gather more evidence and testimonies. I felt a sense of purpose, knowing I had a clear direction. His guidance was invaluable as I navigated this complex process. I knew it would be a tough road, but the safety of my niece and nephew was worth every effort. With renewed determination, I knew I had to protect and support my niece and nephew through this ordeal. The legal steps were just the beginning. Ensuring their emotional well-being was equally crucial. I arranged counseling sessions and sought help from family and friends willing to offer their support. This wasn’t just about gaining custody; it was about providing a safe, loving environment where they could heal and thrive. The journey would be long, but I was ready to face it.