“Emily, perhaps Olivia is right? They’re a family now, and soon there’ll be a baby. How will it look if you’re still living with them?” Mum said to me. “Why should I be the one to overthink this? This flat is just as much mine as it is hers!” I shot back, but deep down, I could feel resentment and doubt tightening around my heart. That conversation with Mum was the final straw. Living with my sister and her husband was becoming unbearable, and I started wondering how we could possibly coexist.
Olivia and I are sisters, and the flat we live in was left to us by our grandmother. It’s spacious—three bedrooms, right in the heart of London—an absolute gem. Grandma wanted us both to share it equally. When Olivia married James, they moved in, while I was living in Manchester, renting a place, and didn’t mind. But a year ago, I moved back—my job went fully remote, and there was no point paying rent when I owned part of the flat.
At first, everything was fine. Olivia and James are good people, and my sister and I always got along. I kept to myself—stayed in my room, helped with cleaning, bought groceries. But when Olivia got pregnant, the atmosphere shifted. James started dropping hints that maybe I should think about moving out. “Em, you’re young, you could rent your own place,” he’d say with a smile, but I sensed the pressure underneath. Olivia stayed quiet, but I knew she agreed.
When Mum found out about the tension, she took their side. “Emily, they’re starting a family. They need space. You’re on your own—it’s easier for you,” she kept saying. I couldn’t believe it. Easier? This flat is rightfully mine—I have just as much claim to it as Olivia! Why should I give it up just because they’re having a child? I want a home too—a place to build my own life. But Mum’s words stung. Maybe I’m being selfish? Maybe I should leave so I don’t ruin their happiness?
Things got worse between us. Olivia snapped over small things—my music being too loud, me using the shower when she needed it. James once said they’d need my room for the nursery. I tried to stay calm: “Listen, this is a shared space. I’m happy to compromise, but forcing me out isn’t fair.” Olivia sighed, “Em, we’re not forcing you. But you must see how cramped it’ll be.” I did see—but I also felt trapped.
I confronted Mum again. “Why should I leave? This is my home too. Why can’t Olivia and James find their own place?” Mum said they were young, with a baby on the way, while I “had time to settle.” But I’m 29—not a child—with my own job, paying bills, buying groceries. Why does my share suddenly matter less?
I started weighing options. Sell my half? But I love this flat—it’s full of memories of Grandma and growing up with Olivia. Besides, selling a share is messy, and Olivia and James couldn’t afford to buy me out. Renting alone? Possible, but then my savings would vanish into rent, and dreams of travelling or buying a car would be gone. I suggested legally splitting the flat, but Olivia refused: “Em, dividing one flat is ridiculous. Just live your own life.”
That hurt the most. My own life? Isn’t this flat part of it? I began feeling like a stranger in my own home. Olivia and James were already planning where the crib would go, while I sat in my room, lost. Mum calls daily, urging me to give in. “Emily, family comes first. Think of your niece or nephew.” But I want to be part of that family—not pushed out.
Yesterday, I spoke to my friend Sarah, a solicitor. She suggested drafting a formal agreement or even going to court if we can’t compromise. But I don’t want a legal battle—this is my sister. Instead, I offered to pay more towards bills and handle some repairs if they stopped pressuring me. They said they’d think about it, but I could tell they weren’t keen.
Now I’m torn. Maybe Mum’s right—should I leave for their sake? But it feels like betraying myself. This flat isn’t just walls—it’s our childhood, our memories. I don’t want to lose it. I still believe we can find a solution: divide rooms, set schedules, make it work. I want my niece or nephew to grow up surrounded by love, not arguments.
This whole mess has made me value my home more—but also shown how hard it is to stand your ground with family. I hope Olivia and James will understand, and that Mum stops seeing me as just “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, and we’ll find a way to live together like a proper family.
