I am insanely envious of my sister. Her husband is willing to give her the world, while I carry the burden of our entire family.
I am deeply envious of my younger sister, Emily. Her life is like a fairy tale where she is the princess, and her husband fulfills her every whim like a devoted knight. In contrast, I’m like a worn-out Cinderella, shouldering the family’s responsibilities and overwhelmed by exhaustion. Sometimes, I feel like the most foolish and miserable woman on earth. My husband, Steven, and I have been together for nearly a decade. We’ve experienced many things, some moments of happiness, but more often than not, through dark times filled with challenges.
We’re currently going through one of our most difficult periods. A year ago, Steven decided to change his job. We were promised the moon: a stable income, good conditions, a bright future. But reality turned out to be a cruel joke on our hopes. The new position was a nightmare, far worse than the last, and Steven now blames it all on me, as if I led him to this abyss.
“Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to switch jobs? Well, are you happy now?” he retorts with a bitter smile whenever he gets the chance.
But who could have predicted such a turn? I only wanted him to grow, for our family to finally rise above perpetual poverty. How was I to know it would turn into a disaster? Now we’re drowning in financial trouble. My salary is the only thing keeping us afloat since Steven’s payments have been delayed for months. We’re just barely surviving financially, and each day I feel the weight pressing down on me more and more.
Last spring, my phone broke. The repair would have cost nearly as much as a new phone, so we decided to postpone buying one. For months, I struggled with an old tablet until I had to pawn it. Almost all my gold jewelry—those few items that reminded me of better days—were gone too. We urgently needed money, and I gave up everything I had. Steven’s belongings? No, we didn’t touch them—only my sacrifices turned into money.
Emily, my younger sister, took pity on me and gave me her old phone, so I could at least stay connected. I gave everything I had to ensure my family didn’t go hungry. Yes, Steven also works and occasionally takes on extra jobs, but he does so grudgingly, as if I’m forcing him into hard labor. Each time, I have to persuade him, almost begging on my knees.
Recently, Emily’s husband, Robert, casually mentioned that she demanded the latest iPhone as her March 8th gift. A sharp sting of envy flared up in me—an emotion I’m ashamed of but cannot suppress. They rent a flat in London, like Steven and me, but everything is different for them. Emily twists her husband around her finger; he works nights driving a cab, goes on business trips, saves money, and pleases her in every way. Her salary is her personal little treasure trove, which she spends only on herself. Last year, she simply walked into a boutique and bought herself a luxurious coat just because she wanted to.
“A man should be responsible for housing, food, and such matters,” she declares with a queen’s confidence.
Emily is truly beautiful. She invests all her money in herself: eyelash extensions, perfect manicures, well-groomed brows, stylish hairdos, fashionable clothing, and other feminine delights. Next to her, I feel like a gray shadow—shabby, unkempt, forgotten. I can’t even remember the last time I visited a hairdresser, let alone got a manicure. Everything I earn goes to the family, while Steven doesn’t even think to bring home an extra penny. Any extra job or change requires dragging him along with pincers.
The other day, I received my paycheck, and Steven again hinted that we’d have to cover the rent and groceries from my pocket. I’m torn apart by resentment: he’s not even trying to change things, not making an effort for us.
“You know money’s tight, and my salary’s delayed again,” he grumbled when I asked what he’d get me for my birthday.
Yet when he doesn’t receive a gift for holidays, he sulks like a child. I always try to find something, even a small token, to make him happy. But him? I don’t expect expensive phones or lavish surprises—happiness isn’t in material things. But even simple attention, the tiniest gesture, is beyond him. He doesn’t understand that.
I once thought our misfortunes were temporary, just a rough patch that would soon end. But now I see: it’s not just a phase; it’s our life. I’ve tried talking to Steven—it’s led to arguments—but all he says is, “The salary’s delayed, what can I do?”
“And if we had children, how would we survive then?” I asked in despair one day.
He was silent. And I look at Emily, with envy eating away inside me. I’m ashamed of these feelings, but they’re stronger than I am. Her husband treats her like royalty, showers her with gifts, buys her everything she wants, while I’m still using her discarded old phone. Why do some women, like Emily, get everything? Is it fate being kind, or is it about the men? Why is life a constant celebration for some with just a snap of a finger, while mine is an endless gray monotony?
