“Bloody hell!” I nearly shouted at my sister-in-law but bit my tongue. And there she was again, lugging her suitcase for yet another weekend stay. “You’re wearing me out!” I almost screamed at my husbands sister. My jaw clenched as she strode in, uninvited, trailing that wretched bag behind her.
My name is Emily, thirty-nine years old. Ive been married to William for twelve years. On paper, were solidour son is growing, life ticks along. But theres a shadow poisoning my days: his sister, Margaret.
Margaret is eight years older than William. Never married, no children. She lives alone in the house across the street, yet somehow, shes always *here*. Im not exaggerating. She slips into our flat like a ghostsilent, persistent, every single day. Sometimes I swear shes got a never-ending stash of keys to our building.
At first, I tried politeness, even kindness. Shes family, after all. I told myself shed pop in, have a cuppa, and leave. But she came every evening. Every weekend. On holiday. Even when we had other guests. When I was ill, shed be perched on the sofa, fussing.
Margaret knows no boundaries. She critiques everythingmy cooking, how we raise our son, my clothes. One minute Im too quiet, the next I laugh too loudly. My cake is dry, the flat cluttered. Worse, she doesnt askshe *demands*. And I endure it. Because I loathe confrontation. Because William says, *”Emily, make an effort. Shes lonely. Were all she has.”*
Ive been patient. But patience wears thin.
Margaret works as an accountant for a private firm. She finishes before I do and heads *straight* to ours. I come homeshes already sprawled on the sofa, telly blaring, our cat hiding under the bed. Our son glued to his phone. And her, acting like she owns the place. Dinner waits. Or Im left hovering while she hogs the loo. She eats with us, then drones on for hours about her dull audits, which no one listens to. Sometimes she leaves. Other times, she stays*”The heatings dodgy at mine”* or *”Im scared of thunderstorms.”*
When we planned a weekend away, Margaret tagged along. Never mind that I longed for time alone with William. Never mind that hed promised me a seaside escape for my birthday. There she was. In our hotel room. Under the same roof. All paid for by William. Never mind she earns well, hoarding her savings *”for a rainy day.”* Seems that rainy day is *me*.
Williams mother thinks Im ungrateful. *”Margarets family. Shes aloneshe needs us.”* I get that shes single, childless. But why must *I* sacrifice my peace for it?
Once, I dared to tell William: *”Ive had enough. She crosses every line. Shes *everywhere*. Its suffocating.”*
He just shrugged. *”What dyou want me to do? Shes my sister.”*
Then came the final straw. We went to the theatrejust us. Id insisted. A friend watched our son. The lights dimmedthen her ringtone shrieked. *”Where are you? Why wasnt I invited? Are you cutting me out?”* she screeched down the phone.
Two days later, she was back. Bag. Pyjamas. Box set in hand. *”My weekends freeIm spending it with you,”* she announced.
I stood in the kitchen, fingers gripping the counter. Swallowed my scream. Stayed silent. But something inside me snapped.
I dont know how to tell William I cant take it anymore. That I need a home without a third adult. Without endless advice. Without dramas. Without *Margaret*.
And I fear if nothing changes, Ill walk. Just to breathe again. Because even love crumbles when another life wedges itself between you and your husbandtoo loud, too invasive, too *alien*.
Today, Ive learned this: happiness cant be built on silence. Lines must be drawn, even with family. No one should live caged by forced generosity.
