**”Sister-in-Law in Love—And We’re Left Holding the Baby Again”**
It was July, and as usual, I took the kids to my parents’ cottage for the summer. My husband, stuck with work, stayed behind to mind the house. Everything was peaceful—until I returned. Instead of quiet, I was met with girlish laughter. Instead of homey comfort, there were drying laundry, cosmetics scattered about, and a stranger’s slippers in the hallway. In the kitchen sat my husband’s sixteen-year-old niece, Emily—completely at home. My husband, caught red-handed, threw up his hands.
“Sorry, love… I didn’t want to worry you. Let me explain.”
I already knew where this was heading. Emily, his sister Charlotte’s daughter, had stayed with us before—usually when Charlotte had a “new romance” or an “urgent work trip.” We never minded—a young, divorced woman deserved a life. But those stays had always been a night or two. This time? Emily moved in the moment we left for the cottage and showed no sign of leaving.
Picture this: a cramped two-bed flat in the outskirts of Manchester, five people—my husband, me, our two restless boys, and a teenager who wasn’t quite a child but not quite an adult. The kids’ room was barely twelve square metres, our bedroom only slightly larger. Surviving a day or two was manageable, but living like this? Torture.
In the bathroom, Emily’s drying lace bras and delicate straps were on full display. My boys were at *that* age—suddenly noticing things—and I refused to let their first flickers of attraction involve their cousin’s underwear. I said something, politely. Emily apologised and cleared it away. She wasn’t a bad girl—helpful, polite, kind—but that only lasted as long as her stay was temporary. Now? No end in sight.
I turned to my husband. “Tom, is she leaving before school starts? Or are we starting term with a lodger?”
He shrugged. “Dunno… Charlotte’s gone quiet.”
There it was. Her mother had dumped her on us to chase love. Where Emily slept, what she ate, who she called at night—none of it mattered to Charlotte. But *we* had to twist ourselves into knots not to make the girl feel unwanted.
I bit my tongue. In the morning, I’d ring Charlotte and sort this calmly. But the moment I mentioned Emily? The call dropped. No answer. Redialled—straight to voicemail. Probably blocked. Go to her place? She lived clear across town, and I knew she wouldn’t answer the door. Message received.
I sighed. “Tom, *deal* with your sister. She won’t listen to me.”
He just lowered his head. “Doubt she’ll listen to me either… But we can’t just chuck Emily out, can we?”
Of course not. She’d grown up without a father, and her mother’s love had always been fleeting. We’d stepped in—birthday gifts, Christmas dresses, the latest phone. We’d been there. But we weren’t her parents. We were family. A short stay was one thing—months? No. That was different.
Meanwhile, Charlotte? Out there living her best life. Fancy dinners, cinema dates, weekends away with some new man. Emily was *our* problem now.
So what do we do? Drag her back and abandon her on the doorstep? Cruel. But this? Unbearable. We weren’t teenagers sharing a bedroom with a third wheel. The boys were already wound up—routines shattered. And Emily? A moody teen with her music, calls, three showers a day, endless Snapchats…
She wasn’t to blame. But I never signed up to be her mother. Right now, all I can do is wait—hope Charlotte remembers she has a daughter. Before it’s too late.
