Oh, let me tell you about my younger sister, Emily. Honestly, for as long as I can remember, she’s always played the victim. Nothing’s ever right for her—everything’s too hard, and it’s always someone else’s fault, never hers. She’s never been one to solve her own problems; she’d rather wait for someone else to drop everything and sort things out for her. To put it mildly, she’s spent her whole life thinking the world owes her.
Right after uni, Emily got married. And don’t get me wrong—she lucked out. Her mother-in-law, Margaret, was a kind, sensible woman who owned a one-bed flat she’d inherited from an aunt. Instead of renting it out straight away, she let the newlyweds live there rent-free while she stayed in her own place—a two-bed on the outskirts of London—just so they could save up for their own home. But, well, generous gestures like that don’t always get the thanks they deserve.
Emily wasn’t exactly the hardworking type. She was perfectly happy lounging on the sofa with Netflix, coffee, and Instagram. Get a job after uni? Why bother when she could just have a baby and go on maternity leave? And that’s exactly what she did—within a year, she was pushing a pram, and soon after, her husband filed for divorce and vanished. So there she was, all alone. And who took her in? Of course—Margaret.
Margaret, bless her, showed kindness again and let 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 independent. But Emily had a different idea of “getting back on her feet”—basically, relaxing until someone kicked her out.
Margaret helped however she could—babysitting, buying toys, even covering groceries. Meanwhile, Emily blew her money on holidays abroad, designer clothes, and flashing new handbags and makeup on social media, all while still living rent-free. Her ex-husband, mind you, wasn’t slacking—he got a mortgage, remarried, sorted his life out. But my sister? She seemed to think she didn’t have to lift a finger—everyone else owed her.
Seven years passed. And Margaret—who, by the way, had long since retired—finally reminded Emily that she’d always planned to rent out the flat for extra income. She politely asked Emily to start thinking about moving out. And guess what? My sister threw such a dramatic fit she could’ve won an Oscar. Screaming, crying, claiming she and her child were being thrown onto the streets—all in front of the kid and her ex-husband, of course.
Nobody was throwing her out. Our parents live in a big house in Surrey with plenty of room—Emily and her kid could’ve had their own space. But she didn’t *want* to go. Why? Because at our parents’, she’d actually have to lift a finger now and then—help around the house, tidy up, wake up early. She’d gotten too used to her cushy life. So instead, she tried dumping the problem on me.
My husband and I had just finished paying off the deposit on our mortgage, done up the place, and started renting it out. The rent covers our monthly payments, and for now, we’re living in my husband’s flat. When Emily found out, she had the nerve to ask if she could “crash with us for six months”—rent-free, naturally. She swore six months was all she’d need to sort herself out.
But I know Emily. Six months would turn into eight years, and she’d trash our newly decorated flat within weeks. And then she’d sulk and call me “selfish” for not helping my own sister. So I shut it down straight away: “No.” Best decision I ever made. Emily threw a fit, ranting to relatives, painting us as heartless, even turning her son against everyone.
But I’m done with the guilt trips. My husband and I work hard for our future. We didn’t swan off on fancy holidays or blow money on designer labels—we saved. We don’t owe anything to someone else’s laziness.
I still don’t get it—how could she go *seven years* without once thinking about the future? Did she really think she’d live in Margaret’s flat forever? Or just wait for another relative to hand her a free home? The worst part? That entitlement—even her own son became a pawn in her little drama: “Poor me, I’m being kicked out!”
What do you even do with a sister like that? Do I keep trying, or just walk away? I’m so tired of being treated like I owe her something.
