My younger sister is called Emily. For as long as I can remember, she’s always played the victim. Nothing ever goes right for her, life is always hard, and everyone else is to blame—never her. She’s never been one to solve problems herself, preferring instead to wait for someone else to drop everything and rush to her rescue. To put it mildly, she’s spent her entire life believing the world owes her.
Right after graduating, Emily got married. I won’t say she was unlucky—if anything, she landed an opportunity many would envy. Her mother-in-law, Margaret, was a kind and sensible woman. She owned a one-bed flat left to her by a distant aunt. Instead of renting it out straight away, as she’d planned, she let the newlyweds live there rent-free. She stayed in her own two-bed house on the outskirts of the city, all so the young couple could save up for their own place. But, as often happens, such generosity was met with ingratitude.
Emily had no interest in hard work. She was perfectly content spending her days lounging on the sofa, bingeing shows, sipping coffee, and scrolling through social media. Get a job after uni? Why bother when she could have a baby and go on maternity leave instead? And that’s exactly what happened—within a year, she was pushing a pram, and by the next, her husband had filed for divorce and vanished. Left alone, who took her in? Of course—Margaret.
Once again, Margaret showed kindness, letting Emily stay in the flat until she got back on her feet. To Margaret, that meant finding a job, saving for a mortgage deposit, and slowly becoming self-sufficient. But Emily’s idea of “getting back on her feet” was very different: resting until someone kicked her out.
Margaret helped however she could—looking after her grandson, buying toys, even covering groceries. Meanwhile, Emily splurged on foreign holidays, designer clothes, and flaunted new handbags and makeup on Instagram—all while still living rent-free. Her ex-husband, by the way, wasn’t idle—he took out a mortgage, remarried, and built a stable life for himself. Emily, however, seemed to think she didn’t have to lift a finger—everyone else should do it for her.
Seven years passed. Margaret, now well into retirement, gently reminded Emily that she’d always intended to rent out the flat for extra income. She politely asked her to start making plans to move. And what happened next? Emily put on a performance worthy of the West End. Screaming and sobbing, she wailed about being thrown onto the streets with her child—right in front of the little boy and her ex-husband, of course.
No one was throwing her out. Our parents live in a spacious house in the countryside with a spare room for Emily and her son. But she doesn’t want to go there. Why? Because at our parents’, she’d have to help with chores, clean up after herself, wake up early—and she’s grown too used to her carefree life. So instead, Emily decided to dump her problems on me.
My husband and I only recently paid off the deposit on our mortgage, renovated the place, and started renting it out. The rental income covers our monthly payments completely. For now, we’re living in my husband’s flat. When Emily found out, she shamelessly asked to “crash with us for six months”—rent-free, naturally. She swore that half a year was all she needed to sort herself out.
But I know Emily. Those six months would easily stretch into eight years. And she’d wreck our newly renovated flat within months. Then she’d play the victim, calling me “selfish” for not helping my own sister. So I said no—firmly. And it was the right decision. Emily blew up, texting relatives, painting us as heartless, even turning her son against everyone.
But I won’t be guilt-tripped anymore. My husband and I work hard for our future. We didn’t jet off to sunny beaches or buy designer labels—we saved and scrimped. We’re not responsible for someone else’s laziness and recklessness.
I still don’t understand—how can someone go seven years without once considering their future? Did she think she’d live in Margaret’s flat forever? Or that another relative would just hand her a new home? The worst part is her entitlement—even using her own son as leverage in her grand performance of “Poor, pitiful me, being kicked out.”
What do I do with a sister like this? Do I keep in touch, or is it time to cut ties for good? I’m tired of feeling like I owe her anything.
