**Diary Entry**
“Emily, maybe Olivia’s right? They’re starting a family soon—how will it look if you’re still living with them?” Mum said. “Why should I be the one to think about that? This flat is as much mine as it is hers!” I shot back, but deep down, resentment and doubt coiled around my heart. That conversation was the final straw. Living with my sister and her husband had grown harder, and I began to wonder how we could possibly make it work.
Olivia and I are sisters, and the flat we share was left to us by our Nan. It’s a proper treasure—three bedrooms, right in the heart of London. Nan wanted us to have equal shares. When Olivia married James, they moved in while I was away, renting a place in Manchester. I didn’t mind at the time. But last year, my job went remote, and it seemed daft to keep paying rent when I owned half the flat.
At first, things were fine. Olivia and James are decent people, and my sister and I always got on. I kept to myself—stayed in my room, helped with chores, pitched in for groceries. But once Olivia fell pregnant, the mood shifted. James started dropping hints about me finding my own place. “Em, you’re young—you could rent somewhere,” he’d say, smiling, though his words carried an edge. Olivia never spoke up, but I could tell she agreed.
When Mum caught wind of the tension, she took their side. “Emily, they’re starting a family. They need the space. You’re on your own—it’s easier for you,” she insisted. Easier? This flat is legally half mine! Why should I step aside just because they’re having a baby? I want a home too—a place to build my life. But Mum’s words stung. Was I being selfish? Should I leave to keep the peace?
Living together grew unbearable. Olivia snapped over trifles—my music being too loud, me hogging the loo when she needed it. James once mentioned turning my room into a nursery. I tried to stay calm: “Let’s talk this through. The flat’s shared; I’ll help, but kicking me out isn’t fair.” Olivia sighed. “Em, we’re not kicking you out. But surely you see it’ll be cramped.” I saw, all right—and felt trapped.
I confronted Mum again. “Why should I be the one to leave? This is my home too. Why can’t Olivia and James find their own place?” She said they were young, with a baby on the way, while I had “plenty of time to settle.” But I’m 29—not a child. I work, pay bills, buy my own food. Since when did my share matter less?
I racked my brain for solutions. Sell my half? But I love this flat—it’s full of memories. Plus, selling a shared property’s a nightmare, and Olivia and James couldn’t afford to buy me out. Rent elsewhere? Possible, but it’d drain my savings, wrecking my travel plans or hopes for a car. I suggested legally dividing the flat, but Olivia refused: “Em, that’s ridiculous. Just live your own life.”
That cut deepest. My own life? Isn’t this flat part of it? I felt like a stranger in my own home. Olivia and James debated crib placements while I sat in my room, wondering what to do. Mum calls daily, pressuring me to yield. “Family comes first—think of your niece or nephew,” she pleads. But I want to be part of this family, not pushed aside.
Yesterday, I confided in my mate Sophie, a solicitor. She suggested drafting a proper usage agreement or even taking legal action. But dragging my sister to court? Unthinkable. Instead, I offered Olivia and James a deal: I’d cover more bills and handle some repairs if they stopped pressuring me. They agreed to think it over, but I could tell they weren’t keen.
Now I’m torn. Should I leave for their sake? But it feels like betraying myself. This flat isn’t just brick and mortar—it’s Nan’s legacy, our childhood. I won’t give it up. There must be a way: split the rooms, set schedules, make it work. I want my niece or nephew to grow up surrounded by love, not rows.
This mess has taught me to fight for my home—and how hard that is when family’s involved. I hope Olivia and James will understand. That Mum will see me as more than “the little sister who should step aside.” I want to be part of their lives, but not at the cost of my own happiness. Maybe time will sort it out. Until then, I’ll hold my ground—because family shouldn’t mean losing yourself.
