I’ve been married for ten years now. My husband and I live together in a flat, paying off a second mortgage. We’re still working on clearing the loan, and haven’t dared to start a family yet. We want to get ourselves sorted first. I have a brother, too. He’s married as well. They live in a one-bedroom flat. My brother holds down two jobs and even does a bit of part-time work on the side. His wife doesn’t work at all. She seems to have children at the speed of a rabbitthree already, pregnant with a fourth, and planning for a fifth.
Along with the kids, theyve collected debts from buying household gadgets. My husband and I often help them outsometimes with money, sometimes with food. Occasionally, my brothers wife has the cheek to demand something rather than just ask.
That’s when we have to ground her, refusing outright. She and my brother act offended, naturally, but give it a few weeks and they’ll be back with another request. “Since you and your husband haven’t got children and we’re about to have four, you really should give us your flat,” she says.
“Where exactly are we supposed to go?” I ask, baffled by such nonsense. “To your one-bedroom flat?” We’ll rent it out, she insists confidently. And you should rent your own place as well. “So you mean we’d be paying both mortgage and rent for you?” “Of course,” she replies. “When are you vacating the flat?”
“You need a hospital, not a new home. Get out of my flat.” “Fine,” she snaps. “Then I’ll go and rid myself of the baby. And you’ll be the one to blame,” she declares, storming out.
And sure enough, she did. That same day, quietly, in her third month of pregnancy. The doctors barely managed to save her. At two in the morning, my brother turned up at the hospital, flinging accusations my way. My husband stepped in, turned his brother-in-law out, and asked what had happened. I explained everything. My husband dunked my brothers head in cold water a few times to calm him and then kicked him out of the flat.
Since then, I no longer have a brother.
