I have a sister I no longer wish to have anything to do with. Our bond has been fractured for years, and now I see clearly: we’re too different to ever find common ground. Her name is Emily, and she lives in a lavish mansion on the outskirts of London. Her home has it all—spacious rooms, modern appliances, even a private swimming pool in the garden. Emily earned it all herself—first working abroad, then starting her own business in the UK. She’s a lawyer, and undeniably successful. But her success hasn’t made her a pleasant person to be around.
My name is Charlotte, and I’m five years younger than Emily. We grew up together in a small town where everyone knew each other. Our parents were ordinary people: Mum was a schoolteacher, Dad worked at the factory. As children, we were close, sharing secrets and dreaming about the future. But as she grew older, Emily changed. She’d always been ambitious, wanting more than our town could offer. After school, she left to study in London, then abroad. I was proud of her, believing she’d achieve great things while staying kind. I was wrong.
When Emily returned years later, she was a completely different woman—cold, arrogant. She spoke to me as if I were a mere acquaintance who couldn’t comprehend her “high standard of living.” Her words often sounded like criticism: why didn’t I aim higher? Why was I content with a “simple life”? But I never wanted to compete. I have my own happiness: I work at a library, I’ve got a husband named James and two children. We’re not wealthy, but we’re happy. I love my job, our cosy family evenings, walks with the kids. To Emily, though, it all seems dreary and insignificant.
Once, I invited her to my daughter Sophie’s birthday. I thought it might mend things. Emily came but acted as if her presence was a favour. She criticised everything—the food, our modest home, even how we raised our kids. She bought Sophie an expensive tablet but muttered, “Maybe this will teach you something useful.” I was stunned. James tried to lighten the mood, but Emily just sighed and kept checking her watch. That night, I knew: I didn’t want to see her again.
The final straw was what happened with our mum. She fell seriously ill and needed surgery. I took care of her, using up my leave, searching for doctors. Emily knew but never called or visited. She just texted, “Send me the bill, I’ll transfer the money.” I didn’t want her money—I wanted her to be there for Mum. But to Emily, everything seems measured in pounds. Mum recovered but never got that call from her eldest daughter. It broke her heart, and it opened my eyes to what my sister has become.
Now Emily lives her life, and I live mine. Sometimes she messages, inviting me to her mansion, but I refuse. I won’t listen to her lectures or watch her flaunt her wealth. I don’t need her money or gifts. I cherish my family, my kids, our simple joys. Maybe she thinks I’m a failure—fine. I know happiness isn’t found in swimming pools or fancy cars.
Sometimes I miss the Emily I remember from childhood. But that girl is gone. In her place is a woman who’s forgotten what family means. I don’t hold a grudge, but I won’t keep her in my life. I have James, my children, my friends—people who value me as I am. Emily can stay in her perfect world. Maybe one day she’ll realise what she’s lost.
