The sister-in-law fell in love—and once again, we’re left holding the baby.
In July, as always, I took the kids to my parents’ cottage for the summer. My husband, unlucky with his leave from work, stayed behind to take care of the house. Everything was normal, quiet—until I came home. Instead of silence, there was girlish laughter filling the air. Instead of cosy familiarity, laundry hung drying, misplaced slippers in the hall, and cosmetics scattered about. In the kitchen sat my husband’s sixteen-year-old niece, Lacey. She made herself at home as if she belonged there. My husband, caught red-handed, raised his hands in surrender.
“Sorry, love,” he started, “I didn’t want to worry you. Let me explain.”
I already knew where this was going. Lacey, his sister Elaine’s daughter, had stayed with us before—usually when Elaine had another ‘romantic fling’ or a ‘sudden work trip.’ We never complained—she was a single mother, after all, entitled to a personal life. But those stays lasted a night or two at most. This time? Lacey moved in the moment we left for the cottage and showed no signs of going back.
Picture it: a two-bedroom flat in a quiet London suburb, five of us crammed in—me, my husband, two restless boys, and a sixteen-year-old girl who was no longer a child but not quite an adult either. The kids’ room was twelve square metres, our bedroom barely bigger. A night or two was manageable, but living like this? A nightmare for everyone.
In the bathroom, Lacey’s drying underwear—delicate lace, thin straps—hung in plain sight. My boys were at that age where they noticed such things, and I certainly didn’t want their first notions of attraction tied to their cousin’s laundry. I mentioned it carefully. To her credit, Lacey apologised and cleared it away without argument. Truth be told, she wasn’t a bad girl—helpful, polite, even kind. But that only held up while her stay was temporary. Now? No end in sight.
I turned to my husband.
“Alex,” I said quietly, “will she be gone by the school term? Or are we starting the new year with a lodger?”
He only shrugged.
“No idea. Elaine won’t answer me.”
There it was. Her mother had dumped her on us to chase another relationship. Where Lacey slept, what she ate, what she did at night—none of it mattered to Elaine. Meanwhile, we twisted ourselves into knots trying not to make the girl feel unwanted.
I refused to lose my temper. I’d call Elaine in the morning, talk it through calmly. But the moment she heard my voice, the line cut dead. No answer, just short beeps—her number now blocked. Drive to her place? She lived clear across the city, and I knew she wouldn’t open the door. The message was loud and clear.
So I took a breath and told my husband, “She won’t listen to me. You deal with your sister.”
He just shook his head. “She’s ignoring me too. But what do we do with Lacey? We can’t just kick her out.”
No, of course not. Lacey grew up without a father, without much care from her mother either. We’d always been there—birthday gifts, holiday dresses, phones at Christmas. But we weren’t her parents. We were relatives. Helping temporarily was one thing. Living together for months? That was something else entirely.
And Elaine? Off enjoying her new romance—restaurants, cinema nights, weekends away with some man. No worries. Lacey was with us, so the problem was solved.
So what now? Drag her back and abandon her on her mother’s doorstep? Cruel. But living like this? Impossible. We weren’t teenagers sharing a bedroom with a third person. The boys were already unsettled—routines broken, tempers frayed. And Lacey? Sixteen, with her moods, her music, her endless phone calls, three showers a day, non-stop Instagram stories…
I don’t know what to do. It’s not Lacey’s fault. But I never signed up to be her mother. For now, I just wait, hoping Elaine remembers she has a daughter before it’s too late.
