Your new house could not have come at a better time! my sisterinlaw announced, Were expecting our first child and could move in for some fresh country air. I gave her a polite but firm smile.
When Max and I first drove past the twostorey brick cottage on the edge of a sleepy Warwickshire village, I felt a jolt of destiny. It had lofty ceilings, big sash windows that looked straight into a tidy garden, and roomy rooms that begged for furniture. A little cosmetic work was needed, but after selling our flat in central Birmingham we still had enough pounds to cover the patches.
Emma, can you picture our life here? Max said, wrapping his arm around me on the doorstep, his eyes shining. Quiet, clean air, space for kids someday
I nodded, taking in the cosy living room with its roaring fireplace. Exactly what wed been dreaming aboutno nosy neighbours, no traffic hum, just our own little world.
The next two months flew by in a blur of paint cans and power drills. Max turned out to be something of a DIY wizard; he hung wallpaper, rolled fresh paint, and even fitted new light fixtures. I chose the curtains, the sofas, the knickknacks, turning the house into a home. By the end of summer the cottage looked unrecognisable.
Its housewarming time! Max declared, admiring our handiwork.
We invited friends and family. Our best mate, Sophie, gushed at every corner. Emma, its a palace! Youre living the dream!
Maxs mother, Gillian, made a thorough tour, pausing in each room before declaring, Well done, you two! This is what a proper home looks likenone of those cramped city flats.
Even Maxs usually taciturn father managed a fullblown speech about the value of owning land beneath your feet. My own parents beamed with pride. The evening ended with a barbecue in the garden, wine in hand, and laughter echoing over the hedges. I finally felt wed found what wed been hunting for.
A week later Gillian called, her voice unusually excited. Emma, I told Amy about the cottage. She cant wait to see it.
Amy, Maxs younger sister by five years, lived in Leeds with her husband, Victor. We only spoke on holidays, but there was never any bad blood. Sure, welcome them, I replied.
Two days later Amy arrivednot alone, but with Victor and a noticeably round belly. Surprise! she announced, hopping out of the car. Were expecting, so well be staying with you for a breath of fresh air.
Max was thrilled; the siblings were always close. I, however, felt a knot tighten at the sight of their suitcases, as if theyd set up camp for a season. Victor was a quiet, pleasant chap who sold office supplies; Amy, by contrast, was loud, emotive, and loved the spotlight.
Oh, what a house! Amy exclaimed, stepping into the lounge. So spacious! Were cramped in our twobed flat where the upstairs neighbour drills at night! I offered them dinner and showed them around. Throughout the meal Amy clutched her belly, moaning about nausea, while Victor ate silently, occasionally nudging food onto her plate.
When the plates were cleared, Amy asked, Emma, where will we sleep?
I thought youd book a hotel, I said, bewildered.
She laughed. Were not here for a nightcap. Your cottage is perfect timing for a babynest!
My stomach dropped. Stay forever? I kept calm and suggested the spare bedroom upstairs. I stripped the bed, laid fresh sheets, and handed over towels. Amy immediately listed grievanceshard mattress, lumpy pillow, drafty window.
The first day passed without drama, but the next morning was a different story. At 7a.m. Amy cranked the TV to maximum volume, then took a marathon shower that drained the hot water. She stormed into the kitchen, commandeering every pot and pan to fry a baconandegg breakfast while leafing through a pregnancy magazine.
Sorry, Emma, she said, wiping grease from her cheek. Im on a special diet, need the proper food.
The kitchen looked like a tornado had hit it: dishes piled in the sink, sauce splatters on the stove, crumbs on the floor. When I asked if shed cleaned up, she waved it off, promising later. The mess stayed until I washed it myself.
Victor spent the day glued to his laptop in the lounge, never moving a cup. Amy lounged on the sofa, then shuffled around the house, leaving her belongings in every corner. By evening the cottage resembled a student flat after a weekend binge. Max arrived home exhausted, glanced at the chaos, and kissed my cheek. Hows it going? he asked.
Fine, I replied, trying to sound calm. Later, after dinner, I pulled Max into the bedroom and whispered, They might stay for the whole pregnancyabout five more months.
He brushed it off. Theyll be out soon, love.
But weeks turned into weeks. Amy settled in as if the cottage were her permanent address. She started inviting her friendsMia and Lucy, two bubbly 25yearolds from Leedswho arrived on a Saturday, shrieking with delight, snapping selfies by the fireplace, and setting up an impromptu photo shoot in the garden.
Ladies, lets pop a bottle! Amy declared, uncorking champagne. They spread a tray of snacks, turned the music up, and turned the living room into a dance floor. I tried to hint that we had plans, but my words vanished into the bass. By morning the sofa was strewn with empty glasses, the white tablecloth stained, and a mountain of dirty dishes piled in the sink.
Maybe you should give a headsup before inviting guests? I suggested the next day.
Amy waved it off. We dont throw parties every day. A little fun isnt bad for a pregnant woman.
Days bled into a month. Amy rearranged furniture without asking, borrowed my perfume, and even tried on the wedding dress Id kept in the wardrobe for my own future ceremony.
The final straw was that very dress. Amy slipped it on, the fabric straining against her growing belly. Emma, does it look good? she asked, twirling.
Take it off this instant! I shouted. Thats my wedding dress!
She laughed it off, Just curious how Id look after the babies. The dress was ruinedstitches ripped, a smudge of concealer darkening the satin. It had been the one Id dreamed of wearing, the one Id hoped to pass on to my future daughter.
I locked myself in the bedroom and wept. Max tried to soothe me, but the grief was more than cloth; it was a piece of my history shredded.
The next morning I decided enough was enough. When Amy trickled down for breakfast, I was ready.
Amy, we need to talk, I said firmly.
What about? she asked, buttering her toast.
Im tired of cleaning up after grown adults. Youve been here a month, youve broken my dress, you never wash dishes, you treat our home like a hostel.
She sighed, Emma, its just a dress. You can buy another. It was badly sewn anyway.
It was my only wedding dress! I snapped. This isnt about the dress, its about respect.
The house is my brotherinlaws, she protested. Im his sister!
Being family doesnt give you a free pass to behave like a houseguestturnedlandlord, I retorted. If you stay, you either act like civilized adults or pay for your stay, utilities, and food.
Amys eyes widened. You want me to pay rent in my brothers house?
Yes, I said. We bought this cottage together, Max and I. Its our home, not a boarding house.
At that moment Max entered, sensing the tension. Whats happening? he asked.
Your wife is evicting me! Amy wailed, tears streaming. She wants me to pay for staying in my brothers home!
Max looked between us, pale. Emma, what are you saying?
I kept my voice level. Ive spent a month cleaning after adults who act like pigs in my house. I will not tolerate it any longer.
Amy shouted, Its my brothers house!
No, its ours, I replied. We paid for it, we repaired it, we live in it. And I will protect it.
Max tried to mediate. Girls, lets not fight. Amy, maybe you could help with the cleaning
Are you really going to side with a stranger over your own sister? Amy snapped.
Stranger? I repeated, dryly. Im the woman who lives here with Max.
Maxs face turned a shade of crimson. He finally understood the stakes.
Emma, if they dont leave today, Ill move out tomorrow, he said, the resolve in his voice unmistakable. I cant watch my wife being treated like this.
I stared at him. Then choose, Max. Either your sister behaves like a respectful guest, or she goes.
He swallowed. Shes pregnant
I know, I said. Pregnancy isnt a licence to turn our home into a mess.
Amy sobbed, Youre kicking us out?!
Not kicking out, I answered. Just setting boundaries. Either you tidy up or you pack.
She flung a chair back, shouting, Fine! Well go! But Ill never forget this! She and Victor stumbled out, dragging suitcases, slamming the door behind them.
Later, as Max and I sat on the back porch with tea, he took my hand. Im sorry, love. I should have drawn a line sooner.
I love you, I said, smiling despite the exhaustion. But this house is ours, and I wont let anyone, even family, turn it into a chaoszone.
A few weeks later Gillian called, trying to smooth things over, but I made it clear that Amy could visit, just not live there.
Six months later Amy gave birth to a healthy boy. Max visited with gifts, but she never stayed over again. Our cottage returned to its peaceful rhythm, filled with the quiet happiness of a home finally its own.
Sometimes you have to be firm to protect the life youve built, and I have no regrets about drawing that line.
