“You should be ashamed! You don’t have children, but I’m a mother!”—How My Sister-in-Law Caused a Scene at My Milestone Birthday to Avoid Repaying a Debt
My thirty-fifth birthday was meant to be a quiet affair—no grand fanfare, just a simple celebration. But life has a way of turning even the most ordinary dates into full-blown dramas. A month before the day, I got a call from Jenna, my husband’s sister, with whom I’d always had a strained relationship.
“Where are you planning to celebrate?” she asked, as if already packing her bags.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I answered, caught off guard. It was too early to plan, especially knowing Jenna’s habits.
“Oh, so you must have money to spare. Lend us £50—me and Gary really need it. I’ll pay you back in two weeks, tops,” she pleaded in that pitiful voice that always sent a shiver down my spine.
I’ve never been comfortable borrowing or lending money—especially not to people like Jenna. From the moment we met, she’d tried to wheedle cash out of me, whether for her kids, home repairs, or supposedly broken appliances. I’d always refused—politely but firmly. Until now.
“The kids have a fever; we need medicine,” she said, playing her trump card.
I caved and transferred the money. Two weeks passed—silence. A month went by—not a word. So I decided I’d remind her myself at the party.
We gathered at a cosy pub. Guests laughed, glasses clinked, but I couldn’t relax. Jenna and her husband arrived on time, chatting, eating, as if nothing had happened.
“I lent your sister £50 for medicine,” I whispered to my husband when he noticed my tension.
“You won’t see it again,” he said bluntly. “She’s owed me £30 for five years. I know her—she won’t pay.”
Still, I decided to confront her.
“Jenna, thanks for coming. I wanted to talk about—”
“Everything’s lovely!” she cut in, kissing my cheek. “The food’s divine—especially the corn salad. Mind sharing the recipe?”
“It’s about the money. A month ago, you borrowed £50…”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Fifty quid? When did I ever take that from you? You always said no—I don’t remember that!”
“I sent it to your account, for medicine. I can show you the transfer.”
Her smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, right. That. I don’t bother remembering trivial things.”
“You promised to repay it in two weeks. It’s been a month—”
Then it erupted.
“Have you no shame?!” she shrieked, drawing stares. “My children were ill, and you’re hounding me for money! Course you wouldn’t understand—you don’t even have kids!”
It felt like a slap. She wasn’t done.
“And what about our gift? We bought you one—but forgot it at home! Cost fifty quid, too—so we’re even. Didn’t think you’d be so stingy!”
“What gift? You haven’t given me anything.”
“It’s at home!” she snapped. “Gary, we’re leaving! Clearly we’re not welcome!”
Her husband wiped his mouth with his sleeve, stood, and followed her out.
Afterward, my mother-in-law, Margaret, took me aside. “You shouldn’t have lent it. I never loan my daughter money—if I give it, I don’t expect it back. That fifty quid bought the necklace you saw her wearing.”
My stomach dropped.
“And there’s no gift. Count yourself lucky it didn’t cost more. Lesson learned,” she said, with a knowing wink.
Jenna cut ties. Eight months passed—no calls, no texts. Then suddenly, she rang, offended: “I thought at least you’d send a birthday transfer!”
“Didn’t you get one?” my husband quipped. “Check last October—fifty quid.”
“Very funny!” She hung up.
We never spoke again. Years later, at Margaret’s funeral, we crossed paths. Six months on, we sold her flat, split the proceeds, and neither of us reached out.
Honestly? Life’s been lighter since. Some debts aren’t worth collecting—especially the ones that cost your peace.
