You’re Loaded, Aren’t You? My Wife’s Sister Borrowed Money and Then Took Off on a Beach Holiday This summer, my wife’s beloved sister came to visit us. I jokingly call her “the golden child” as at every family gathering, Mum, Dad, and everyone else talk about her—she was a star student, graduated from university, landed a job in her field, isn’t she just the perfect daughter? Meanwhile, the eldest (my wife) never finished her studies and got married early. But no one seemed to mind, since I was fairly well-off, running my own business. I owned a flat, a car, and had a good income. Yet despite that, the real star was always my wife’s younger sister. And so it happened that this summer, my sister-in-law showed up on our doorstep asking to borrow money; she wanted to put down a deposit for her first flat but didn’t have enough saved. It wasn’t a huge sum for me, so I agreed to help. She promised she’d pay it back every month—as she worked for the council, she’d said, “You can count on me.” So, I lent her the money—and she pretty much swore she’d pay me back each month. But not even a week later, off she went on a seaside holiday. Honestly, I was left dumbfounded; how could someone skint enough to not afford a mortgage deposit suddenly have cash for a trip to the coast? She told the family she’d saved all year for her holiday, but what was curious is that she still hadn’t applied for any mortgage. When I asked, she just said she’d changed her mind. I politely asked her to return the money, to which she replied she was broke and had spent it all at the seaside. That’s when it hit me—she’d never planned on buying that flat at all. I asked her again, as nicely as I could, to pay back what she owed, explaining that I’d lent her money for a deposit, not a holiday in Blackpool. Her response stung: “I’ll be earning loads soon—you can wait, I haven’t got the cash now.” And how do you think the story ended? Exactly as you’d expect—she told my mother-in-law that I’d asked for the money back too early, insisted that’s not how you treat family, and, once again, she was the angelic youngest daughter and we were just the ‘rich villains’ in the family story!

Author Walton MerrittReading 3 minViews 1

You must be raking it in, right? My wifes sister borrowed some money from us and then went off to Brighton Beach.

This summer, my wifes darling younger sister came to stay with us. I used to call her the pet, because whenever theres a family gathering, her mother, her fathereveryoneonly ever talks about her. She was a star pupil in school, went to university, landed herself a decent job in her field. The perfect daughter, if you ask anyone.

But my wife, the eldest, didnt even finish her degree before she got married. That didnt bother her family, though, since I was doing rather well for myselfhad my own business, owned a flat, a car, and was comfortably off. Despite all that, the best daughter was always the younger sister.

So, this summer, when my sister-in-law turns up at our place, she asks if I can lend her some money. She wanted to put down a deposit for a flat and hadnt managed to save enough herself. It wasnt a massive sum for me, so I didnt think twice and agreed to lend her the money. She told me she was working in a government office and would pay me back promptly.

She took the loan and made all sorts of promises about repaying me each month. A week laterno word of a lieshe was off sunbathing on Brighton Beach. I was baffled, to be honest. How could someone, who supposedly had no money for a mortgage deposit, suddenly splash out on a holiday?

Shed booked time off and assured the whole family shed saved up for this trip all year. But there was a small issue: she still hadnt taken out a mortgage. I asked her about it, and she just shrugged and told me shed changed her mind.

When I asked her to pay back the money I lent her, she said she was skintshed blown the lot at the seaside. Thats when I realised shed never planned to buy a flat at all.

I politely asked her to settle the debt soon since Id given her the money to put down on a home, not to go on holiday. Her response really got under my skin:
Dont worry, Ill be loaded soon, you can wait. I havent got the money now.

And do you know how it all ended? Yep, youve guessed it. She told her mother Id demanded the money back before the agreed date, making out thats not how you treat family, and suddenly the little sister was once again the golden girl, while we were branded the greedy rich monsters.

A Life Put Right: “Lada, I forbid you from speaking to your sister and her family! They’ve got their life, we’ve got ours. Have you been ringing Natasha again? Complaining about me? I warned you.” Bogdan gripped my shoulder painfully. As usual in these arguments, I retreated to the kitchen, fighting back bitter tears. I’d never once complained to my sister about my home life; we simply talked, especially about our aging parents. But Bogdan loathed Natasha—her family had peace and plenty, unlike ours… When I married Bogdan, I was the happiest girl in all of England. He swept me off my feet, and I didn’t care that he was a head shorter than me, or that his mother arrived at our wedding barely able to stand. Only later did I learn she was a longtime alcoholic… Blinded by love, I saw no evil—but after a year, I began to doubt my promised bliss. Bogdan drank heavily, stumbling home drunk, then came a string of affairs. I worked as an NHS nurse—hardly a generous wage. Bogdan preferred spending time with his drinking buddies and provided nothing for me. Once, I’d dreamed of children; now I poured my love into a pedigree cat. The thought of having children with my drunken husband no longer crossed my mind, even though I still loved Bogdan. “Lada, you silly thing! Look at all those blokes eyeing you, but you stay glued to your little leprechaun! What do you see in him? Always covered in bruises, thinking no one notices beneath that concealer? Leave him before his anger gets you killed.” That was my friend—the colleague who always tried to save me. Yes, Bogdan often gave in to unprovoked rages. Once, he locked me in our flat and took the key. After that, I lived in terror. My soul shrank, heart pounded whenever I heard the key in the lock. I imagined he blamed me for not giving him a child, for being a ‘bad’ wife. So, I never fought back—just took the pain, the insults, the mockery… Why did I still love Bogdan? I remembered his mother, a real witch, telling me: “Lada, do as your husband says. Love him with all your heart—forget your family, your friends, they’ll only lead you astray.” So, I did—I gave up everything for Bogdan. I even liked it when he begged forgiveness, knelt and kissed my feet. Make-ups were sickly-sweet, magical, our bed strewn with roses. I knew full well he pinched them from the garden of a mate’s wife—a fellow drunk. The wives would swoon over their stolen roses and forgive. Most likely, I’d have stayed a slave to Bogdan for life, rebuilding my fantasy heaven from broken pieces, had fate not intervened. “Let Bogdan go,” an unknown woman said to me once. “I’ve got his son—you’re barren. Just let him go for my child’s happiness.” I snapped, “Get out of here, now.” Bogdan tried to deny it, but when I demanded he swear the boy wasn’t his, he could only stay silent. And I understood everything… “Lada, you never look happy. Trouble at home?” my boss, the hospital director, unexpectedly asked. “Everything’s fine,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “It’s good to have everything in order—then life’s wonderful,” he said with a mysterious smile. The director, Dr. Herman Lewis, was single again after a rocky marriage; he wasn’t striking, but up close, something about him set my heart fluttering—a heady scent, or maybe it was just kindness. His simple words unsettled me: “It’s good when everything is in order.” Me—my life was a mess. But time doesn’t wait for anyone to sort themselves out… So, I left Bogdan, went home to my parents. “Did he throw you out?” Mum asked. “No, I’ll explain later,” I lied—too ashamed of my marriage. Later, Bogdan’s mother rang and screamed curses, but I’d straightened my back and drawn a deep breath. Thanks, Dr. Lewis… Bogdan stalked and threatened me, not realising he’d lost all control over my life: “Don’t waste your time, Bogdan. Take care of your son. I’ve turned our page,” I told him calmly. Finally, I returned to my sister Natasha and our parents. I became myself again, not someone else’s puppet. “You’re a different woman, Lada. Glowing, happy—a true bride,” my friend smiled. Then Dr. Herman Lewis proposed: “Lada, marry me! I promise, you won’t regret it. Only one thing—just call me ‘Herman’ at home.” “But do you even love me, Herman?” He smiled and kissed my hand. “Sorry, I forgot women need words. Yes—I probably love you, but I trust actions more.” I said yes—with more joy than I’d ever known. …Ten years have flown by. Every day Herman proves his love—not with empty words, but with care and protection. We never had children together—perhaps I really was ‘barren’. But Herman never blamed or hurt me. “Lada,” he’d say, “just means we’re meant to be together—just us.” His daughter gave us a granddaughter, little Sasha—our beloved girl. And as for Bogdan, he drank himself to death before turning fifty. His mother shoots me evil looks if we meet at the shops, but her hateful arrows melt away in thin air. I just feel sorry for her. As for us, well—everything is in order. Life is beautiful.

My True Wife – “How have you managed to stay married to the same woman for so many years? What’s your secret?” my brother would ask every time he visited. “Love and endless patience. That’s all there is to it,” I’d always reply. “That’s not for me! I love all women. Every woman is a mystery, and I have no interest in living with a book I’ve already read,” he’d smirk. My younger brother Peter married at eighteen; his bride, Anna, was ten years his senior. Sweet Anna loved Peter with her whole heart, but Peter only amused himself with her. Anna settled into our crowded family home, where seven relatives lived. She gave birth to their son, Matthew, feeling sure that happiness was within her grasp. The young couple was given a tiny room of their own. Anna cherished her precious collection of porcelain figurines—ten rare pieces, lovingly displayed on an old dresser. Our large family knew how much these delicate figures meant to her. Anna would often admire them, lost in thought. At that time, I myself was considering starting a family and was searching for that one special woman. In the end, my wish came true; my wife and I have been happily married for over fifty years. Peter lived with Anna for ten years. Anna had little to boast of in this marriage; she tried to be a good wife and loved her husband and son deeply—obedient, gentle, and easygoing. But Peter wanted something more. One evening, Peter came home drunk and started picking on Anna, joking coarsely and grabbing her by the arms. Sensing trouble, Anna quietly left the room with little Matthew. Suddenly, a terrible crash echoed from inside. Anna instinctively knew what it was—the sound of her treasured figurines smashing. Dashing back, she saw her beloved collection shattered on the floor. Only one figurine had survived. Anna picked it up and kissed it quietly, her eyes brimming with tears. She said nothing. A crack formed in their marriage that night. From then on, Anna seemed to live outside the family in her mind. Though she did her duties and was a model wife and homemaker, it was all without passion, just going through the motions. Peter began drinking more often, and soon started bringing home crude new friends—reckless women and shady characters. Anna suspected everything, but withdrew in silence, becoming distant and lost. Peter stopped coming home altogether, abandoning his family. Anna understood that, as the saying goes, you can’t catch the wind in the field. Eventually, Anna and Peter divorced quietly, without argument or blame. Anna took Matthew and left for her hometown. The one surviving figurine was left behind as a memory. Peter didn’t waste time mourning. He began living wild and free, without rules or commitments. He fell easily in and out of love, and was married and divorced three times. He loved drinking himself unconscious. Despite all this, Peter was a top economist at a London university—he even co-authored a well-known textbook and was seen as having a brilliant future until alcohol and his chaotic lifestyle undid it all. Eventually, our family believed Peter had settled down after marrying a “spectacular” woman with a seventeen-year-old son. At their modest wedding, it was obvious that Peter and his new stepson would never get along. The inevitable happened—after five years and several violent quarrels, Peter and his wife parted ways. Then more fleeting lovers circled Peter—Lisa, Natalie, Sophie. He loved them all, swept up in each affair as if it would last forever. But fate had its own plans. At fifty-three, Peter was diagnosed with a terminal illness. By then, none of his beloved women remained; they had all quietly slipped away. My sisters and I cared for Peter in his final days. “Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed. Hand it to me,” Peter struggled to speak. Under the bed, I found a dusty suitcase. When I opened it, I was shocked—it was full of porcelain figurines, each carefully wrapped in a soft cloth. “These… I collected for Anna. I’ve never forgotten her silent reproach the day her collection was smashed. She put up with so much from me. You remember all those work trips across the country? I bought figurines everywhere I went. There’s a false bottom in the suitcase—take the money you’ll find there, too. Give it all to my true wife. Ask her to forgive me. We’ll never meet again. Simon, you must promise you’ll bring these to Anna.” Peter turned away. “I promise, Peter. I’ll do it,” my voice caught in my throat. I knew my brother was slipping away for good. “You’ll find Anna’s address under my pillow,” Peter whispered. He never turned to face me again. Anna still lived in her childhood town; Matthew was unwell with a mysterious illness. Doctors shrugged and suggested going to Europe for help—something I learned from a letter Anna had written, which was under Peter’s pillow. As it turned out, Anna had always kept in touch with her ex-husband, though only by letter—Peter never replied. After Peter’s funeral, I set out to fulfill his last wish. Anna met me at a quiet train station and hugged me warmly: “Oh, Simon, you and Peter look so alike—two peas in a pod!” I handed her the suitcase and gently apologized, as Peter had asked: “Anna, forgive your wayward husband. Here’s something from Peter—money, and a bit more. You’ll see when you get home. Remember, you were always Peter’s true wife. Never forget that.” We parted for good. Later, I received a single letter from Anna: “Simon, thank you and Peter for everything. I’m grateful to God that Peter was part of my life. Matthew and I sold the figurines to a true collector; I couldn’t bear to look at them—every one had passed through Peter’s hands. It’s sad he left us so soon. With the money, we were able to move to Canada, where my sister had long invited us. I had nothing keeping me at home anymore. My only hope had been that Peter would call for us. He never did… But I am happy he still thought of me as his true wife. That means his feelings never died entirely. By the way, Matthew is doing much better here—he really likes it. Goodbye.” No return address…

After Talking with the Adopted Girl, I Realised Not Everything Was as It Seemed Next to me, on a park bench, sat a five-year-old girl swinging her legs as she told me about her life: “I’ve never seen my dad; he left me and Mum when I was very little. Mum died a year ago. The adults told me she’d passed away.” The girl looked at me and continued: “After the funeral, my Auntie Helen, who was Mum’s sister, came to live with us. I was told she’d done a noble thing by not sending me to a children’s home. They explained that Auntie Helen was now my guardian and that I’d be living with her.” The girl paused, looked under the bench, and carried on: “After I moved in, Auntie Helen started tidying up our house: she put all Mum’s things in one corner and wanted to throw them away. I started crying and begged her not to, so she let me keep them. Now I sleep in that corner. Every night I curl up on Mum’s things and it’s warm there, as if she’s still with me.” “Each morning, Auntie Helen gives me something to eat. She’s not much of a cook—Mum cooked better—but she asks me to eat everything. I don’t want to upset her, so I do. I understand she’s making an effort. It’s not her fault she can’t cook like Mum did. Then she sends me out for a walk, and I can’t come back home until it’s getting dark. Auntie Helen is ever so nice!” “She loves to brag about me to the other aunties she knows. I don’t really know these ladies, but they always come round to visit us. Auntie Helen sits and has tea with them, tells funny stories, says lovely things about me, and spoils us all with sweets.” After saying this, the girl sighed and continued: “I can’t eat just sweets all the time. Auntie never scolds me for anything. She’s always nice to me. Once she even gave me a doll—of course, the doll’s a bit poorly, it’s got a bad leg and one eye that won’t open properly. Mum never gave me a doll that was already broken.” The girl hopped off the bench and began to skip on one leg: “I have to go now because Auntie said the other aunties are coming today, and I need to dress up before they arrive. She promised me a lovely slice of cake afterwards. Goodbye!” The girl jumped off the bench and dashed away to run her errands. I sat there for ages, my thoughts circling around “good” Auntie Helen. I wondered, what was the purpose of that goodness? Why did she need everyone to think she was so noble? Is it possible to look so indifferently at a child who sleeps on the floor, wrapped in her late mother’s clothes…