I am insanely envious of my younger sister, Mary. Her life seems like a fairy tale where she is the princess, and her husband fulfills her every whim like a devoted knight. In contrast, I feel like a worn-out Cinderella, carrying the weight of our whole family, suffocating under the fatigue and despair. Sometimes, I feel like I’m the most foolish and unfortunate woman in the world. I’ve been with my husband, Sam, for almost a decade. During this time, we have faced many challenges, with moments of happiness overshadowed by more frequent dark times.
We are currently experiencing one of the most difficult phases of our life. Last year, Sam decided to switch jobs, lured by promises of stability, good conditions, and a brighter future. But reality cruelly mocked our hopes. The new position turned out to be worse than the last, an utter nightmare, and now Sam blames me for it, as if I led him into this mess.
“You wanted me to change jobs, didn’t you? Well, happy now?” he snaps at me with a bitter smile whenever he gets the chance.
But who could have predicted such a turn of events? I only wanted him to grow so that our family could finally escape this perpetual poverty. How could I know it would all turn catastrophic? Now, we are sinking in a financial pit. My earnings are the only thing keeping us afloat, as Sam has been experiencing delayed payments for several months. We are barely making ends meet, and each day I feel the weight pressing down harder.
Last spring, my phone broke. Repairing it nearly cost as much as a new one, so we decided to postpone the purchase. I struggled with an old tablet for a few months until we had to pawn it. Along with it went nearly all my gold jewelry — the few items that reminded me of better days. We urgently needed the money, so I sacrificed everything I had. Sam’s things? No, we didn’t touch them — only mine were used.
Mary, my younger sister, took pity on me and gave me her old phone so I could stay connected. I put all my effort into ensuring my family didn’t go hungry. Yes, Sam also works and sometimes takes on extra jobs, but he does so grudgingly, as if I were forcing him into hard labor. Every time, I almost have to plead with him.
Recently, Mary’s husband, Alex, mentioned that she demanded the latest iPhone for her birthday. I felt a burning jealousy ignite within me — an emotion I am ashamed of but cannot quell. Mary and Alex rent a flat in London, just like us, but their situation is entirely different. Mary seems to have Alex wrapped around her finger: he works extra hours as a driver, takes business trips, saves money, and goes out of his way to please her. Her salary? It’s her personal little treasure, spent solely on herself. Last year, she simply walked into a boutique and bought a luxurious coat because it pleased her.
“A man should take care of housing, food, and other responsibilities,” she proclaims with the confidence of a queen.
Mary is truly beautiful. She invests all her money in herself: eyelash extensions, perfect manicures, groomed eyebrows, stylish hairdos, chic clothes, and other feminine delights. Next to her, I feel like a dull shadow — scruffy, untended, forgotten. I can’t even recall the last time I visited a hairdresser, let alone got a manicure. Everything I earn goes toward our family’s needs, while Sam doesn’t even think to bring home an extra penny. Any side job or life change has to be pried out of him.
The other day, I received my paycheck, and once again, Sam hinted that we would have to pay for rent and food from my earnings. The resentment is tearing me apart: he doesn’t seem to try to change anything or make an effort for us.
“You know how tight money is; my salary’s delayed again,” he muttered when I asked what he’d get me for my birthday.
But if he doesn’t get a gift on a special occasion, he sulks like a child. I always strive to make him happy, finding some small token to ensure he doesn’t feel neglected. And him? I’m not expecting extravagant gifts or luxurious surprises — joy isn’t found in money. But even simple attention or a small act of care isn’t forthcoming from him. He just doesn’t get it.
I thought our troubles were temporary, just a dark phase that would soon pass. But now I see: this isn’t a phase; it’s a whole life. I’ve tried talking to Sam, and it leads to arguments, but he just shrugs: “Salary’s delayed, what can I do?”
“And if we had kids, how would we manage then?” I asked in desperation once.
He was silent. Meanwhile, I look at Mary, and envy eats me up inside. I’m ashamed of these feelings, but they’re stronger than I am. Her husband showers her with affection and gifts, buying her whatever she desires, while I’m still using her discarded old phone. Why do some women, like Mary, seem to have it all? Is it just a fortunate fate? Or is it about the men? Why is life a constant celebration for some, at the snap of a finger, while for me it’s an endless gray gloom?”
