Get out of my house right now! I cant stand my sister and her kids any longer.
Océane, leave my flat, and now! thats how I told her, fed up with my sister and her children.
In a small town near Nantes, where the morning markets clamor mixes with the scent of fresh croissants, my life at forty has turned into a circus thanks to my sister. Im Camille, living alone in a tworoom apartment I barely managed to pay off after my divorce. My younger sister Océane, her three boys and her sheer irresponsibility have finally broken my patience. Yesterday, from the doorstep, I shouted, Get out of my place, immediately! and now Im wondering whether I was right. The truth is, I simply couldnt take it any longer.
**The sister who used to be close**
Océane is five years younger than me. Weve always been tight, despite our opposite temperaments. Im organized, hardworking, and have always shouldered everything. Shes carefree, constantly chasing a better life. Her three sons have three different fathers: Théo, twelve; Liam, eight; and Noé, five. She lives in a tiny attic room, scrapes by with odd jobs, and I have always helped hermoney, groceries, clothes for the kids. When she asked to stay just a couple of weeks with me, I couldnt say no. Its now been three months.
My flat is my sanctuary. After the divorce I poured everything into itrenovation, furniture, comfort. I work as a hotel receptionist, and my world revolves around order and stability. Since Océane and her brood moved in, my home has turned into a battleground. The kids race through the hallway, scream, break things, scribble on the walls. Instead of disciplining them, Océane scrolls on her phone or steps out for things, leaving me to pick up the slack.
**The chaos that ruined my haven**
From day one I realized my mistake. Théo, the oldest, answered me; Liam tagged the walls; Noé smeared his puree everywhere. They ignored both Océane and me, as if they were used to being shuffled from one father to another, treating my apartment as just another stop. Océane never cleans, never cooks, never pitches in. Camille, youre alone, it doesnt bother you, she says. Her audacity is suffocating.
My flat now looks like a shared hostel. Dirty plates pile in the sink, toys litter every surface, chocolate stains mar the sofa. I come home from work and, instead of resting, I mop, cook for five, and try to calm the children. Océane sleeps or chats on the phone. When I ask her to tidy up, she rolls her eyes: Oh, Camille, dont start, Im exhausted. Exhausted? From living off my generosity?
**The final straw**
Yesterday, walking in, I barely recognized my own place. The kids were sprinting everywhere, one nearly knocked me over. The kitchen was a mountain of dishes; the living room sported juice spilt on the carpet. Océane was slumped on the couch, nose buried in her phone. I exploded: Océane, get out of my house, right now! She stared at me as if Id lost my mind: Are you serious? Where am I supposed to go with the kids? I told her it wasnt my problem, though inside I trembled. Her children stood frozen, watching, and I felt a pang of pity. But I cant keep going.
I gave her one week to find somewhere else. She broke down, calling me cruel, accusing me of abandoning my own sister. Where was her concern when she was wrecking my home? Where was her gratitude for everything Id done? My friends say, Camille, youre rightstop supporting them. My mother, aware of the fight, calls begging, Dont put her on the street, she has children. And me? Dont I deserve peace?
**Fear and resolution**
I worry Ive been too harsh. Océane and her kids are truly in trouble, and I feel guilty, especially for my nephews. Yet I cant sacrifice myself for her recklessness. My apartment is all I have, and I refuse to let it become a dump for her chaos. I offered to help her look for a new place, but she rejected it: You just want to get rid of us. Maybe thats true. So what then?
I have no idea how this week will unfold. Will my mother forgive me? Will Océane realize she forced this? Or will I be labeled the evil sister who threw family out on the street? One thing is certain: Im done being their savior. At forty, I want to live in my own home, in order, breathing freely, without anyone trampling on my boundaries.
**My cry for freedom**
This story is my claim to a life of my own. Océane may love her children, but her irresponsibility shatters my balance. The boys arent to blame, but I cant be their mother. At forty, I need my flat, my peace, my dignity. The choice hurts, yet I wont back down. I am Camille, and I choose myselfeven if it breaks my sisters heart.
