I have a sister I no longer wish to have anything to do with. Our bond has been broken for years, and now I see clearly—we’re just too different to ever get along. Her name is Emily, and she lives in a grand mansion on the outskirts of London. Her home has everything: spacious rooms, top-notch appliances, even a private swimming pool in the garden. Emily earned all of it herself—first working abroad, then starting her own business here in England. She’s a lawyer, and a successful one at that. But her success doesn’t make her someone pleasant to be around.
My name is Charlotte, five years younger than Emily. We grew up together in a small town where everyone knew each other. Our parents were ordinary folks—Mum was a schoolteacher, Dad worked at a factory. When we were little, Emily and I were close, sharing secrets and dreaming about the future. But as time passed, she changed. She’d always been ambitious, wanting more than our little town could offer. After school, she left to study in the city, then went abroad. I admired her, believing she’d achieve great things and stay kind-hearted. I was wrong.
When Emily returned years later, she was a completely different woman—cold, arrogant. She spoke to me like I was just an acquaintance who couldn’t grasp her “high-class lifestyle.” Her words often carried veiled jabs: why wasn’t I striving for more? Why was I content with a “simple” life? But I never wanted to compete. I have my own happiness—working at the local library, married to a man named James, and raising our two children. We’re not wealthy, but we’re happy. I love my job, our cosy family evenings, taking the kids for walks. To Emily, though, it all seems dull and insignificant.
Once, I invited her to my daughter Sophie’s birthday party, hoping it might mend things. Emily showed up but acted as if she was doing us a favour just by being there. She criticised everything—the food, our modest home, even how we raised our kids. She gave Sophie an expensive tablet but muttered, “Maybe this’ll 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 realised I didn’t want her in my life anymore.
The final straw was how she treated our mum. When Mum fell seriously ill and needed surgery, I took time off work to care for her, arranging doctors and staying by her side. Emily knew but never called or visited—just sent a text: “Send me the bill, I’ll transfer the money.” I never asked for her money—I wanted her to be there, to support Mum. But for Emily, it seems everything boils down to pounds and pence. Mum recovered but never got that call from her eldest daughter. It broke her heart, and it showed me exactly who my sister had become.
Now, Emily lives her life, and I live mine. Sometimes she messages, inviting me to her mansion, but I always refuse. I won’t sit through her lectures or watch her flaunt her wealth. I don’t want her money or gifts. I treasure my family, my children, 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 either. I have James, the kids, my friends—people who value me as I am. Let Emily stay in her perfect world. Maybe one day she’ll realise what she’s lost.
