**Diary Entry**
I’m torn between two impossible choices—my sister or my husband. Either way, I risk losing someone I love, and it’s tearing me apart.
My older sister, Emily, has always had a complicated relationship with me. Three years older, she grew up convinced our parents favoured me, believing I got more dolls, sweets, and clothes. Truth is, they loved us equally—it’s just that I appreciated small joys, while she took them for granted.
Even as kids, she’d snatch my toys just to upset me, not to play. And as adults? Nothing changed.
When I met James, my now-husband, Emily turned colder. Behind my back, she whispered to our parents that our marriage wouldn’t last. I was 22, James 24—Emily was 25 with no prospects of her own.
After our wedding, we moved in with James’s mum. Then she remarried, moved abroad, and left us her two-bed flat in Manchester. Shortly after, James’s grandfather passed, leaving him another flat across town. We rented one out, saving the income for our son William’s future—he’s 12 now, and we know how fast time flies.
Meanwhile, Emily rushed into marriage with a man named Tom—lazy, unreliable, scraping by on odd jobs. Still, she had three kids with him. They crammed into a tiny studio, bought with government help and whatever our parents could spare.
I pitied my nieces and nephews—always poorly dressed, hungry, sickly. Our parents sent money when they could, but pensions don’t stretch far.
James and I kept the rental a secret for over a year. But Emily found out.
Then came the demand.
“Lucy,” she pleaded, “you’re renting one place while we’re packed like sardines! The flat’s near a brilliant arts school—Sophie wants to dance, Mikey loves music! Let us stay, just till Tom finds work. We’ll pay something, I swear. We’re family!”
I felt pity—but also fear. For the children, yes, but for us too.
James was firm. “No. Over my dead body. They’ll trash the place, and we’ll never see a penny. Tom won’t work—he never has! And Emily’ll pop out another kid just to avoid a job!”
I argued it’d be temporary.
“Do you even believe that?” he scoffed. “Give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. I’m finding new tenants tomorrow.”
Next morning, Emily called. “We’re nearly packed! Expect us soon!”
I froze. I hadn’t told her we wouldn’t let them stay.
I’m terrified of upsetting Mum—her heart’s fragile. One shock could be it.
I’m terrified of losing Emily—or my marriage.
But my heart and head fight. Emily only ever takes, never gives. James has stood by me, built our life together. Now he’s asking me to protect it.
I’ll have to say no. Even if Emily hates me, I choose my husband, my son, our future.
But God, it hurts. To know your own flesh and blood could force you into this—it’s unbearable.
