I am insanely envious of my younger sister, Emily. Her life is like a fairy tale; she’s the princess and her husband, Richard, grants her every whim like a loyal knight. Meanwhile, I feel like an exhausted Cinderella, bearing the weight of the family on my shoulders and suffocating from fatigue and hopelessness. Sometimes, I think I’m the most foolish and miserable woman alive. My husband, James, and I have been together for almost ten years, during which we’ve faced both happy moments and dark times full of trials.
We’ve now entered one of the bleakest periods of our lives. A year ago, James decided to change jobs. We were promised the earth: stable income, good conditions, a bright future. But reality mocked our hopes cruelly. The new job turned out to be a nightmare, worse than the last, and now James blames me as if I alone pushed him into this abyss.
“You wanted me to change jobs? Well, happy now?” he throws at me with a poisonous smirk whenever he gets the chance.
But who could have predicted this turn of events? I just wanted him to grow, for our family to finally escape perpetual poverty. How could I have known it would all turn into a disaster? Now we’re drowning in a financial hole. My salary is the only thing keeping us afloat because James’s payments have been delayed for several months. We’re barely scraping by, and each day I feel the weight pressing down even harder.
Last spring, my phone broke. Repairing it would have cost nearly as much as a new one, so we decided to postpone buying a replacement. For months, I struggled with an old tablet until I had to pawn it. Almost all my gold jewelry—a few reminders of better days—followed it there. We needed money desperately, and I gave up everything I had. But James’s things? No, we didn’t touch them—only my sacrifices were used.
Emily, my younger sister, took pity on me and gave me her old phone so that I could somewhat stay in touch. I kept working hard so that my family wouldn’t go hungry. Yes, James works too and sometimes takes on extra jobs, but he does it with such reluctance that it’s as if I’m forcing him into hard labor. I have to plead with him, practically begging on my knees each time.
Recently, Emily’s husband, Richard, casually mentioned that she had asked for the latest iPhone as a gift for Mother’s Day. A burning jealousy flared up inside me—a feeling I’m ashamed of but can’t suppress. They rent a flat in Manchester like us, but everything is different for them. Emily has Richard wrapped around her little finger: he works as a cab driver in the evenings, travels for work, saves money, and spoils her. Her salary is her personal treasure, spent entirely on herself. Last year, she simply went to a boutique and bought a luxurious coat because she felt like it.
“The man should take care of housing, food, and other responsibilities,” she declares confidently like a queen.
Emily is truly stunning. She invests all her money in herself—lash extensions, perfect manicures, well-groomed brows, stylish hairdos, fashionable clothes, and other feminine pleasures. Next to her, I feel like a faded shadow—worn out, unkempt, forgotten. I can’t even remember the last time I went to the hairdresser, and as for manicures, I don’t even try. Everything I earn goes toward the family, and James doesn’t think of bringing home an extra penny. Any side job or life change has to be pulled out of him with pliers.
The other day, I received my paycheck, and once again James hinted that I’d have to cover rent and groceries from my own pocket. I’m torn apart by resentment—he doesn’t even try to change anything, doesn’t strive for us.
“You know we’re short on money and my salary is delayed again,” he mumbled when I asked what he’d give me for my birthday.
But if he doesn’t get a gift on a holiday, he sulks like a child. I always try to cheer him up, to find even the smallest thing so he doesn’t feel deprived. And him? I don’t expect expensive phones or luxurious surprises—happiness isn’t in the money. But you can’t expect even simple attention, a small gesture of care from him. He just doesn’t get it.
I thought our troubles were temporary, just a rough patch that would pass. But now I see it’s not just a phase, it’s our life. I’ve tried talking to James, arguing at times, and he just throws up his hands: “The paycheck is delayed, what can I do?”
“What if we had kids? How would we survive then?” I once asked in desperation.
He said nothing. I look at Emily and envy consumes me. I’m ashamed of these feelings, but they’re stronger than me. Her husband treats her like a queen, showers her with gifts, buys her everything she desires, and I’m still using her old phone, discarded out of no need. Why do some women, like Emily, get everything? Is it just a stroke of luck? Or is it down to the men they choose? Why is life a continual celebration for some, while for me it’s endless gray gloom?
