**Diary Entry**
My younger sister, Emily, has always played the victim for as long as I can remember. Nothing is ever her fault—life is unfair, people are cruel, and everyone owes her something. She never solves her own problems; she’d rather wait for someone else to drop everything and rush to fix things for her. To put it kindly, she’s always lived by the mantra: *the world owes me.*
Right after university, Emily got married. And I won’t say she was unlucky—quite the opposite. She landed an opportunity most would envy. Her mother-in-law, Margaret, was kind-hearted and sharp. She had inherited a small flat in Manchester from a distant aunt. Instead of renting it out immediately as planned, she let the newlyweds live there rent-free. Margaret stayed in her own two-bedroom house on the outskirts—all so they could save for a place of their own. But generosity like that often goes unappreciated.
Emily was never one for hard work. She preferred lounging on the sofa with coffee, telly, and endless scrolling. Get a job after uni? Why bother when she could have a baby and go on maternity leave instead? That’s exactly what happened—within a year, she was pushing a pram, and another year later, her husband filed for divorce and vanished. Left alone, who took her in? Margaret, of course.
Margaret showed kindness again, letting Emily stay *until she got back on her feet.* To Margaret, that meant finding work, saving for a deposit, and slowly standing on her own. But to Emily, it meant doing nothing until she was forced out.
Margaret helped where she could—watching her grandson, buying toys, even covering groceries. Meanwhile, Emily splurged on designer clothes, luxury makeup, and holidays abroad, all while still living rent-free. Her ex-husband, for his part, didn’t sit idle—he took out a mortgage, remarried, and built a stable life. Emily? She decided effort wasn’t her responsibility. The world should provide.
Seven years passed. Margaret, now well into retirement, gently reminded Emily that she’d always planned to rent the flat for extra income. She politely asked her to consider moving out. What happened next? A performance worthy of the West End. Tears, screams, accusations of being *thrown onto the streets*—all in front of her child and ex-husband.
No one was throwing her out. Our parents live in a spacious countryside home with a spare room waiting for her. But she refuses to go. Why? Because there, she’d actually have to help around the house, tidy up, wake early—things she’s long forgotten. Instead, she tried to offload her burdens onto me.
My husband and I only just paid off the first chunk of our mortgage, renovated, and started renting out the flat to cover payments. Emily found out and, without shame, asked to *crash with us for six months*—rent-free, naturally. *Just six months to get back on her feet*, she swore.
But I know Emily. Those six months would stretch into eight years. Our renovations would be ruined within weeks. Then she’d call me *heartless* for refusing to *help family*. So I said no—firmly. Best decision I ever made. She erupted, phoning relatives, painting us as monsters, even turning her son against us.
But I’m done with her games. My husband and I work hard. We don’t sunbathe in Barbados or wear designer labels—we save. We aren’t obligated to pay for someone else’s laziness.
How does someone go seven years without a single thought for the future? Did she think Margaret’s flat was hers forever? Or that another relative would hand her a second home? The worst part? That unshakable *entitlement*. Even her own son became a pawn in her *poor, victimised me* act.
What do you do with a sister like that? Do you cut ties for good? I’m tired of being treated like I owe her a lifetime of handouts. Sometimes, *no* is the kindest word.
