**Diary Entry**
Nearly eight years ago, I married Henry—a kind, compassionate man with a heart too big for his own good. But there was one problem: his sister, Claire. A woman with boundless imagination and an uncanny talent for turning any innocent remark into a thinly veiled plea… for expensive gifts.
She never asked outright. Her words always dripped with suggestion:
*“The children are desperate to see that new animated film, but the tickets are so pricey these days…”* And before I could blink, Henry would book the tickets, take his nieces and nephews to the cinema himself, and treat them to popcorn combos.
*“Lovely weather, isn’t it?”* Claire would sigh. *“Perfect for a day out at the theme park…”* Guess who ended up paying for the rides? Us, naturally.
I’ve never been good with hints. Frankly, I don’t care to be. I prefer people to speak plainly. If you want something—ask. Don’t twist your words into vague musings, pretending you never expected a thing.
Henry, though? He always leapt at her cues. He adored his nieces and nephews to bits, but the way he spoiled them was beyond reason. Bikes, gadgets, days out—it never ended. A single nudge from Claire, and off he’d dash, wallet in hand.
Recently, it was little Alfie’s birthday—Claire’s youngest. We’d already splurged on a top-of-the-range bicycle, which cost us a pretty penny. More than generous, I thought. But to Claire, that was just pocket change. No, what Alfie *really* needed was a trip to Paris—with her, naturally. A boy couldn’t possibly travel alone!
Her version?
*“Alfie’s obsessed with Paris—his eyes light up whenever it’s mentioned…”*
Henry returned from the visit empty-handed—no holiday brochures, just a cake and some novelty cushions with Alfie’s name embroidered. I was at work that day. Needless to say, Claire was less than thrilled.
But she didn’t give up. Her demands grew bolder each year. Henry didn’t seem to mind. We had no children of our own, and he poured all that fatherly love into his nieces and nephews. Maybe because he had nowhere else to put it.
Then—the news we’d waited for. I was pregnant. Henry wept with joy, kissed my belly, couldn’t believe it. He’d dreamt of this for years. And then Claire walked in…
Another request. This time, a trip to Amsterdam over the Easter holidays. *With the children,* of course. For the first time ever, Henry said no. He told her his priorities had shifted—our baby, our future, our family.
She exploded.
The next day, my phone rang. Screaming. Accusations.
*“How dare you? You planned this! Just to steal the only man who ever cared for my children!”*
I hung up.
Then came the *real* performance. Alfie and his sister ambushed Henry outside his office, clutching handmade cards.
*“Don’t leave us, Uncle Henry…”*
*“Why do you need a baby when you already have us?”*
Someone had helped them write that. And we both knew *exactly* who.
Henry came home, sank onto the sofa, stared at the cards… and something inside him snapped.
*“I’ve been a fool,”* he muttered. *“How long have I let this go on? The ‘broken microwave,’ the ‘no money for school uniforms,’ the ‘their dad walked out—Uncle Henry, help.’ She’s been playing me for years. And I fell for it. Like an idiot.”*
Then he grabbed a notebook. Scribbled down everything—bikes, iPads, summer camps, trips, laptops, trainers, theatre tickets. The total? A small fortune.
The final act? Pure Claire.
She turned up unannounced, swept into our hallway like she owned the place, and said:
*“Since you’re having a baby soon… maybe one last favour? Just a second-hand car—nothing fancy. Something to take the kids about in…”*
Henry wordlessly handed her the notebook.
*“That’s what you owe us. Pay it back. You’ve got six months. After that, I’ll see you in court.”*
She slammed the door so hard the coat rack toppled over.
Then came the social media storm. Claire’s friends bombarded my accounts—*how could I break that sacred bond? Now those poor children were abandoned, starving, their mother at her wit’s end!*
But I didn’t flinch.
Claire owns two houses. One from her ex-husband, the other because Henry signed his inheritance over to her. She gets child support, lives comfortably. She’s just used to taking. And now? The well’s run dry.
We’re having a baby. And at last, my husband has a real family—no games, no dramatics, no hidden scripts.
And somehow, I think our story’s only just beginning.
