My sister wants to move into our flat, but my husband is dead against it—I’m caught in the middle.
My name is Victoria. Right now, I’m facing an impossible choice: risk falling out with either my own sister or the man I love. My heart’s tearing in two, and my head won’t settle on the right answer.
My older sister, Eleanor, has always had a complicated relationship with me. Three years my senior, she spent our childhood jealous of the attention our parents gave me. She was convinced they bought me more dolls, sweets, and clothes, though in truth, Mum and Dad loved us equally. I was just quicker to appreciate little things, while she took them for granted.
I still remember how Eleanor used to snatch my toys just to make me cry, not because she wanted to play with them. And even as adults, her attitude hasn’t changed.
When I met Thomas—my now-husband—Eleanor only grew colder. Behind my back, she whispered to our parents that our marriage wouldn’t last. I was 22 then, Thomas was 24, and Eleanor was already 25 with no relationship in sight.
After we married, Thomas and I moved in with his mum. But not long after, she remarried—an expat—and moved abroad, leaving us her two-bed flat in Manchester.
A couple of years later, Thomas’s grandfather passed and willed him another two-bed flat in a different part of the city. Suddenly, we had two properties.
We decided to rent one out, putting the money aside for our son Daniel’s education. He’s 12 now, and we know how fast time flies.
Meanwhile, as if racing to keep up, Eleanor rushed into marriage with the first man she met—Alexander. A lazy, unreliable sort who only scrapes by on odd jobs. Still, she had three children with him. The four of them squeezed into a tiny studio, bought with government help and the little our parents could spare.
I’ve always pitied my nieces and nephews—poorly dressed, always hungry, forever coming down with something. Our parents tried to help Eleanor financially, but their pensions only stretch so far.
Thomas and I kept the rented flat a secret from her for nearly a year and a half. But eventually, she found out.
Then, one day, she came to me with a demand:
“You have to understand, Vicky,” she nearly sobbed. “You’re renting that place out, and we’re packed in here like sardines! There’s a brilliant arts school near your flat—Sophie dreams of dancing, and Michael wants music lessons! Please, just let us stay rent-free for now. Once Alex finds steady work and I can go back to a job, we’ll pay you something. We’re family!”
Looking at her, I felt a strange mix of pity and dread—pity for the kids, dread for our future.
I told Thomas everything.
“No,” he said flatly. “Over my dead body! That lot will trash the place, and we’ll never see a penny. Has Alex ever held down a real job? And your sister will just pop out another kid to avoid working!”
I tried to argue it was only temporary, that they were struggling.
“Do you even believe that?” Thomas scoffed. “Give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile. No. I’m already looking for new tenants.”
The next morning, Eleanor rang me:
“We’re almost packed! Just a few boxes left—we’ll be over soon! See you then!”
I sat there with the phone in my hand, not knowing what to say. I didn’t tell her she was wasting her time packing. I didn’t say we wouldn’t let them move in.
I’m terrified of upsetting Mum—her heart’s weak. Any shock could kill her.
I’m afraid of losing my sister for good—and just as afraid of wrecking things with my husband.
I’m stuck with a choice that’s tearing me apart.
My heart says to help my own flesh and blood. But my head, and the memory of childhood wounds, reminds me: Eleanor has always taken and never given.
And Thomas… He’s stood by me through everything—supported me, picked me up, built this life with me. Now he’s asking one thing: to protect what we’ve worked for, our family, our future.
So I know, however hard it is, I have to say no.
I’ll have to find the strength to refuse my sister. Let her be angry. Let her hate me. I’m choosing my husband, my son, our family.
But God, does this choice hurt… How bitter it is to realise your own blood can force you into such a cruel corner.
