**Diary Entry – 19th April**
My husband’s sister has always believed that spoiling her children is our duty—and ours alone.
I married Edward nearly eight years ago. A kind, compassionate man, generous to a fault. But there was one problem—his sister. Margaret. A woman with boundless imagination and an uncanny ability to turn an offhand remark into a veiled request… for something expensive.
She never asked outright. Her words always came wrapped in innocence:
*“The children have been dying to see that new film, but tickets are so pricey at the moment,”* she’d muse. And Edward, barely a second later, would be booking seats, taking his nephews to the cinema, and throwing in popcorn combos for good measure.
*“Lovely weather, isn’t it?”* she’d say next. *“Shame to waste it indoors. Perfect for Alton Towers!”* And guess who ended up taking her kids? Us, naturally. All on our dime.
I don’t do hints. Nor do I care for them. If you want something, say it. Ask. Explain. Don’t dance around it, pretending you never meant a thing.
Edward, though? He always leapt at her “suggestions.” He adored his nephews—utterly. But the way he indulged them crossed a line. Bikes, gadgets, days out—it became routine. A wink from Margaret, and off he’d race.
Recently was little Oliver’s birthday—Margaret’s son. We’d already splurged on a top-of-the-range bicycle, costing us a small fortune. I thought that would suffice. But to Margaret, a bike was pocket change. No, the boy *needed* a trip to Paris. And not alone—with her, naturally. *“Can’t let him go by himself!”*
Her version?
*“Oliver’s been dreaming of Paris. His eyes light up whenever it’s mentioned…”*
Edward came back with a cake and monogrammed cushions instead of plane tickets. I was at work; he went alone. Needless to say, his sister was less than thrilled.
But Margaret didn’t give up. Her demands grew year after year. Edward didn’t seem to mind. We had no children of our own, so he poured everything into his nephews. Maybe because he had nowhere else to put that fatherly love.
Then came the news—I was pregnant. Edward wept, kissed my belly, couldn’t believe it. He’d dreamed of this for years. And then Margaret arrived.
Another request. A trip to Prague over the Easter break. With the kids, of course. For the first time, Edward said no. He told her everything now went to our family. She *exploded*.
The next day, she rang me. Screaming. Accusing.
*“How dare you?! This is deliberate! You’re stealing the only man who ever cared for my children!”*
I hung up.
Then came the next act. His nephews ambushed Edward outside his office. Handed him handmade cards.
*“Uncle, please don’t leave us…”*
*“Why do you need your own kids when you’ve got us?”*
Someone had *clearly* helped with the wording. And that someone was predictable.
Edward came home, sank onto the sofa, stared at those cards… and something inside him *clicked*.
*“I’ve been an idiot,”* he said. *“How long have I put up with this? The ‘broken microwave,’ the ‘no money for school trips,’ the ‘their dad’s gone—help us, Uncle.’ She’s been using those kids to manipulate me. And I fell for it. Like a fool.”*
Then he pulled out a notebook. Started listing everything: bikes, phones, summer camps, trips, gadgets, coats, theatre tickets. The total? A staggering sum.
And then—the grand finale. Margaret’s signature touch.
She marched into our house. Stood in the hallway like she owned it and said:
*“Since you’re having a baby soon… maybe one last favour? Give us your car. Not new—I’m not greedy. Just something to ferry the kids about.”*
Edward wordlessly handed her the notebook.
*“That’s what you owe. Six months to pay it back. Or I’ll see you in court.”*
She slammed the door so hard the coat rack toppled over.
After that? A storm of messages. Margaret’s friends flooded my socials. Accused me of destroying the sacred bond between uncle and nephews. Claimed the children were *“abandoned, starving, their mother distraught.”*
But I didn’t flinch.
Margaret owns two flats. One from her ex-husband, the other from Edward—he gave up his inheritance for her. She gets child support, lives comfortably. She’s just used to people giving her everything. Now? They won’t.
We’re having a baby. And now, my husband has a real family. No manipulation. No theatrics. And something tells me—our story’s only just begun.
**Lesson learned:** Blood doesn’t make family—respect does. And sometimes, the kindest thing you can do is say *no.*
