Lorraine and her younger sister Sandra grew up in a quaint countryside village where everyone knew each other’s business, and gossip spread like wildfire. Their lives took very different paths.
Lorraine was the town’s golden girl—a straight-A student who earned a scholarship to university in Manchester. There, she met her husband, married, and settled down, inheriting a modest flat together.
Sandra, on the other hand, never left home. Two failed marriages left her with two children. Whether it was her temper or poor judgment in men, she ended up back under her parents’ roof.
Lorraine and her husband had their struggles—money came and went—but step by step, they built their future. They bought a tiny bedsit, sold it, upgraded to a two-bedroom flat, and decided it would be their son Oliver’s start in life. He studied hard, got into medical school, and they dreamed that once he graduated and married, he’d settle there with his wife.
But things didn’t go as planned.
When Sandra’s son, William, finished school, he moved to Manchester for college, hoping to find work and rent a place. But he couldn’t afford it. So Sandra, with her usual persistence, begged Lorraine to take him in—just for a year or two. He’d pay his share, find a job, and they’d help however they could. Lorraine agreed.
Two years flew by. Oliver fell in love, proposed to Emily, and wedding plans began. Lorraine told William, “By summer, you’ll need to move out. The flat’s for Oliver and Emily.”
Seemed fair enough. Then the excuses started.
“Just got a new job, wages are barely enough…”
“My girlfriend’s pregnant…”
“We’re planning the wedding…”
Lorraine and her husband relented—just until September. Everyone knew, even Sandra, who nodded along. “Of course we understand.”
But summer ended. August came. Sandra called. “We can’t help William. My daughter’s due soon—she needs the money. And a wedding’s expensive…”
Then came the grandparents’ pleas. “He’s family! Flesh and blood!”
Lorraine caved again—one last time. “End of November. That’s final.”
Winter arrived. Weddings happened. Babies were born. Yet Oliver and Emily still lived with Lorraine while William, his wife Lucy, and their newborn stayed in the flat—with no intention of leaving.
Endless excuses followed.
“Paycheck’s late…”
“Found a place, but it’s a dump…”
“Lost my phone, couldn’t answer…”
Lorraine called—no luck. She went to talk in person—no one answered, though she knew they were home. The second time, William opened the door… and lunged at his uncle. That was the final straw.
Shaking with anger, Lorraine realized something: family ties weren’t about love—they were about being used. Manipulated. Milked dry.
Then the smear campaign started. Sandra and the grandparents called Oliver.
“Have you no shame?”
“Lucy’s milk dried up from the stress!”
“How can you kick out family with a newborn?”
But Lorraine and her husband were done being doormats. They filed a complaint. Police got involved. Two months later—eviction.
Oliver and Emily finally moved into their flat, starting fresh. And Lorraine? She stopped answering Sandra’s calls. Permanently.
Family isn’t just about blood—it’s about who stands by you, not those who smile while shoving you down.
So, what do you think? Are family bonds a duty requiring sacrifice—or should respect and fairness matter just as much?
