When I had her younger sister, Codie, a year later, it became even more evident that something was off. Codie surpassed Jessie in reaching baby milestones—she even walked before her older sister.

Don’t get me wrong, I know many parents have found their child sneaking home with a toy stolen from a store, but Jessie’s theft was relentless. She took anything she could get her hands on—not just toys.

And then, she would lie about it.

She was only three when I first caught her in an elaborate fabrication.

A few months later, her behavior turned more sinister. One afternoon, while playing in the garden, she picked up a rock and struck Codie over the head.

As Codie screamed in pain, Jessie merely laughed. Then, in a chilling display, she licked the blood from her hands.

Shaken, I confided in my aunt Karen, the woman I considered my second mother.

“Try not to worry too much,” she advised, though I could see she was just as unsettled as I was.

When Jessie started school, making friends was a struggle. Eventually, I had her evaluated and learned she was slightly behind in her education.

But deep down, I knew the problem ran much deeper.

A Daughter I Could No Longer Control

As Jessie grew into her teenage years, her behavior spiraled.

At fifteen, she ran away to be with her boyfriend. When Karen and I went to bring her home, she screamed at us, cursed, and even called the police on us.

That was the moment I felt I had lost my daughter completely.

By the time Jessie was twenty, she had a daughter of her own—Madilyn.

I had hoped that motherhood would change her, but it didn’t. If anything, Karen and I spent more time raising Madilyn than Jessie ever did.

When Jessie became pregnant again, she and Madilyn moved in with Karen full-time. Karen was already exhausted from all the help she was giving, and at her age, she deserved peace—not to have Jessie and her children taking over her home.

Worse, Jessie was rude, ungrateful, and sometimes even threatening.

A Chilling Warning

When my grandmother—Karen’s mother—passed away, I helped Karen plan the funeral. One afternoon, I asked Jessie if she could watch Madilyn while Karen and I went to choose a coffin.

“I’m not staying,” she snapped. “Take Madilyn with you.”

Then, with a smirk, she added, “While you’re there, pick a coffin for yourselves.”

At that moment, I saw Jessie for what she truly was—pure evil.

Despite our desperate pleas, social services were no help. Eventually, as tensions escalated, Karen rented Jessie a place of her own to get her out of the house.

I was worried about leaving Karen alone, so I asked my son James, who was 20 at the time, to stay with her for a few days. But he was too caught up with work.

A week later, my daughter Codie arrived at my home in tears.

“Mum… Karen’s dead,” she sobbed.

My Worst Fear Confirmed

When I arrived at Karen’s house, detectives informed me that Jessie had called the police after “discovering” Karen’s body. She claimed it was a burglary gone wrong.

But as an officer led me through the house, I saw blood smeared across the walls.

A sickening realization hit me—Jessie had done this.

I knew it in my soul.

A week later, Jessie’s boyfriend found a blood-stained hammer hidden in their home. That was all the proof the police needed. Jessie was arrested and charged with Karen’s murder.

The Ultimate Betrayal

Even though I had suspected her, I was still in shock. This was how Jessie repaid Karen and me for everything we had done for her.

As she awaited trial, my son James was overwhelmed with guilt.

“Mum, I blame myself,” he cried. “If I had stayed with Karen, this wouldn’t have happened.”

No matter how much I tried to comfort him, the guilt consumed him.

One night, while driving to his girlfriend’s house, James lost control of his car and crashed into a tree.

The police said it was due to fatigue, but I knew better. Jessie had killed him, just as she had killed Karen.

Her actions had pushed him into despair, and that night, his grief drove him off the road.

Jessie was to blame.

No Redemption

In 2021, Jessie pleaded guilty to Karen’s murder.

During the sentencing—held over Zoom due to COVID-19—I learned the horrifying details.

Jessie and Karen had argued about childcare. Then, as Karen sat down to watch Home and Away, Jessie crept up behind her with a hammer.

She struck her at least a dozen times. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she tied a plastic bag over Karen’s head.

Madilyn was in the next room when it happened.

Afterward, Jessie left the house as if nothing had happened—stopping for KFC and cigarettes on the way home. She then stashed the bloodied hammer in a cupboard in her daughter’s room.

Her defense claimed her “traumatic upbringing” played a role in her actions. But if anyone was to blame, it was her.

Karen and I had done everything possible to support her.

Jessie was sentenced to 18 years in prison, with a minimum of 13 years before parole.

I don’t know if my daughter is a psychopath, a sociopath, or just inherently evil. But I do know one thing—she cannot be saved.

The little girl who once struck her sister with a rock never changed.

When James died, I lost the wrong child. It should have been Jessie.