“Emily, maybe Olivia is right? They’re a family now, and a baby’s on the way. How will it look if you’re still living with them?” Mum said to me. “Why should I have to think about that? This flat is as much mine as it is hers!” I shot back, though inside, I felt resentment and doubt tightening around my heart. That conversation with Mum was the last straw. Living with my sister and her husband was getting harder by the day, and I started wondering how we could possibly carry on like this.
Olivia and I are sisters, and the flat we live in was left to us by our grandmother. It’s a proper gem—three bedrooms, right in the heart of London. Gran wanted us to share it equally. When Olivia married James, they moved in, and at the time, I didn’t mind—I was living in Manchester, renting a place. But a year ago, my job went remote, and it made no sense to keep paying rent when I owned half this flat.
At first, everything was fine. Olivia and James are decent people, and my sister and I have always got on. I kept to myself—stayed in my room, helped with cleaning, pitched in for groceries. But when Olivia got pregnant, things shifted. James started dropping hints that maybe I should think about moving out. “Em, you’re young, you could find your own place,” he’d say with a smile, but I heard the unspoken pressure beneath it. Olivia never said it outright, but I could tell she agreed.
When Mum caught wind of the tension, she took their side. “Emily, they’re starting a family. They need the space. You’re on your own—it’s easier for you,” she kept saying. Easier? That flat is my legal right, same as Olivia’s! Why should I have to give it up just because they’re having a baby? I want a home too, a life of my own. But Mum’s words stung. Was I being selfish? Should I just leave and let them be happy?
Living together became unbearable. Olivia snapped over tiny things—my music too loud, me hogging the bathroom when she needed it. James once muttered they’d need my room for the nursery. I tried to stay calm: “Look, this is our flat. I’ll help out, but kicking me out isn’t fair.” Olivia sighed. “Em, no one’s kicking you out. But you see how tight it’ll be, don’t you?” I did—but I also felt backed into a corner.
I confronted Mum again. “Why should I leave? This is my home too. Why don’t Olivia and James find their own place?” Mum said they were young, with a baby coming, and I’d “sort myself out in time.” But I’m 29—not a child. I work, pay bills, buy groceries. Why does my share suddenly matter less?
I weighed my options. Sell my half? But I love this flat—it’s full of memories, our childhood with Gran. Plus, selling a share in a shared property’s a nightmare, and Olivia and James couldn’t afford to buy me out. Rent somewhere else? I could, but it’d drain my savings, wreck my plans to travel or buy a car. I suggested legally dividing the flat so we’d each have our own space, but Olivia refused. “Em, that’s daft. Just live your own life,” she said.
That cut deepest. My own life? Isn’t this flat part of it? I started feeling like a stranger in my own home. Olivia and James were picking out cribs while I sat in my room, wondering what to do. Mum rang daily, pushing me to give in. “Family comes first, Emily. Think of your niece or nephew.” But I want to be part of that family, not shoved aside.
Yesterday, I spoke to my mate Sarah, a solicitor. She suggested drafting a clear occupancy agreement or even taking legal action if we couldn’t compromise. But I don’t want to drag my sister to court—she’s family. Instead, I offered Olivia and James a deal: I’d cover more of the bills and contribute to renovations if they backed off. They said they’d think about it, but I could tell they weren’t keen.
Now I’m torn. Maybe Mum’s right—I should leave for their sake. But that feels like betraying myself. This flat isn’t just brick and mortar—it’s Gran’s legacy, our childhood. I won’t give it up. There has to be a way: split the rooms, set schedules, make it work. I want my niece or nephew to grow up surrounded by love, not rows.
This mess has taught me to fight for my home—and how hard that is when family’s involved. I hope Olivia and James will see my side, that Mum stops treating me like the kid who should step aside. I want to be in their lives, but not at the cost of my own happiness. Maybe time will sort it out. Maybe we’ll find a way to live together, properly—like family should.
