I am insanely envious of my sister. Her husband is ready to give her the world, while I bear the weight of the entire family.
I am overwhelmingly envious of my younger sister, Emily. Her life is like a fairy tale where she is the princess, and her husband fulfills her every whim like a loyal knight. In contrast, I feel like a worn-out Cinderella, shouldering the entire family’s burdens and suffocating from exhaustion and hopelessness. Sometimes it feels like I’m the most foolish and miserable woman in the world. I’ve been with my husband, James, for nearly a decade. During this time, we’ve been through a lot: moments of happiness, but more often dark times filled with challenges.
We’re currently going through one of the darkest periods of our lives. A year ago, James decided to change jobs. We were promised the moon: a stable income, good conditions, a bright future. But reality turned out to be a cruel mockery of our hopes. The new position turned into a real nightmare, worse than the previous one, and James now blames me for everything, as if I alone pushed him into this pit.
“Wasn’t it you who wanted me to change jobs? Well, are you happy now?” he throws at me with a sarcastic smile at every opportunity.
But who could have predicted such a turn? I just wanted him to grow so that our family could finally escape perpetual poverty. How was I to know it would turn into a disaster? Now we’re sinking in a financial pit. My salary is the only thing keeping us afloat because James’s payments have been delayed for months. We barely make ends meet, and every day I feel the burden pressing harder.
Last spring, my phone broke. Repairing it would cost nearly as much as getting a new one, so we decided to postpone the purchase. I struggled with an old tablet for months until I had to pawn it. Nearly all my gold jewelry followed suit—those few things that reminded me of better days. We urgently needed money, and I gave away everything I had. James’s things? No, we didn’t touch them—it was only my sacrifices that went into play.
Emily, my younger sister, took pity on me and gave me her old phone so I could stay connected. I gave my all to ensure my family didn’t go hungry. Yes, James also works and sometimes takes side jobs, but he does so begrudgingly, as if I’m forcing him into forced labor. Each time, he needs persuading, practically begging on my knees.
Recently, Emily’s husband, Andrew, mentioned that she demanded the latest iPhone as a gift for her birthday. I felt a pang of burning jealousy—a feeling I’m ashamed of but can’t suppress. They rent an apartment in London, just like we do, but everything is different for them. Emily twists Andrew around her finger: he works nights as a driver, goes on business trips, saves money, and caters to her every need. Her salary is her private little treasure, spent only on herself. Last year she simply walked into a boutique and bought herself a luxurious coat because she wanted to.
“A man should be responsible for housing, food, and all the other worries,” she declares with the confidence of a queen.
Emily is truly beautiful. She invests all her money in herself: eyelash extensions, perfect manicures, well-groomed brows, stylish hairstyles, fashionable clothes, and other feminine delights. Next to her, I feel like a gray shadow—worn out, neglected, forgotten. I can’t remember the last time I visited the hairdresser, let alone had a manicure. Everything I earn goes to the family, and James doesn’t even think of bringing home an extra penny. Any side job or change in life is something you have to pull out of him with forceps.
Recently, I received my paycheck, and James again hinted that rent and groceries would come from my pocket once more. I’m torn apart by resentment: he doesn’t even try to change things, doesn’t strive for our sake.
“You know money’s tight, they’ve delayed the salary again,” he muttered when I asked what he’d get me for my birthday.
Yet, when he doesn’t receive a gift during the holidays, he sulks like a child. I always try to please him, to find at least a small token so he doesn’t feel deprived. And him? I don’t expect expensive phones or lavish surprises—happiness isn’t about money. But even a simple gesture of care from him is something I won’t get. He just doesn’t understand.
I thought our troubles were temporary, that this was just a dark phase that would soon end. But now I see: it’s not a phase, it’s an entire life. I tried talking to James, leading to arguments, but he just shrugs: “The salary’s delayed, what can I do?”
“If we had children, how would we survive then?” I asked in desperation once.
He remained silent. And I look at Emily, and jealousy consumes me from within. I’m ashamed of these feelings, but they are stronger than me. Her husband adores her, showers her with gifts, buys everything she wishes for, while I still use her old phone, discarded because she no longer needed it. Why do some women, like Emily, get everything? Is it their lucky fate? Or is it about the men? Why is life a constant celebration for some, just a snap of a finger away, while mine is endless gray despair?
