“You shameless thing! You don’t have children, but I’m a mother!” — How my sister-in-law caused a scene at my birthday bash to avoid paying me back
My thirty-fifth birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair—no fuss, no theatrics. But life, as it often does, has a way of turning even the most mundane occasions into full-blown dramas. A month before the big day, Jenny—my husband’s sister, with whom I’d always had a strained relationship—rang me up.
“Where are you planning to celebrate?” she asked, as if already packing her handbag.
“Hadn’t really thought about it yet,” I replied, caught off guard. It was far too early to discuss, especially knowing Jenny’s ways.
“Oh, so you’ve got spare cash then. Lend me and Gary five hundred quid. Desperately needed—I’ll pay you back in a fortnight, tops,” she pleaded in that whiny tone that never failed to make my skin crawl.
I’ve never been keen on borrowing or lending, least of all to people like Jenny. From the moment we met, she’d been trying to “borrow” money—for the kids, for home repairs, for supposedly broken appliances. I’d always refused, politely but firmly. Until now.
“The kids are poorly—need medicine,” she said, delivering the knockout blow with the “sacred” argument.
I caved. Sent the money to her account. Two weeks passed—silence. A month—not a peep. So I decided: I’d remind her at the party.
We celebrated at a cosy little bistro. Glasses clinked, laughter bubbled, but I couldn’t relax. Jenny and Gary arrived right on time, chattering away, tucking into the food as if nothing had happened.
“I lent your sister five hundred for the kids’ medicine—she swore she’d return it in a fortnight,” I whispered to my husband when he noticed my tension.
“She won’t,” he said flatly. “She’s owed me three hundred for five years. Know her too well—you’ll never see that money.”
Still, I had to try.
“Jenny, thanks for coming. I wanted to talk—” I began carefully, like tiptoeing on thin ice.
“Everything’s just lovely!” she interrupted, air-kissing my cheek. “The food’s divine, especially that sweetcorn salad—recipe, please?”
“It’s about something else. That money you borrowed last month—”
Jenny threw her head back and laughed. “Five hundred? When did I ever borrow that from you? You always said no—don’t recall a thing. Dreamt it up, did you?”
I gaped.
“I transferred it to your account. For medicine. I can show you the receipt if you like,” I said, cheeks burning.
Jenny went pale but recovered fast. “Oh, that. I don’t clutter my mind with trivialities,” she sniffed, folding her arms.
“You promised two weeks. It’s been a month. I’d like it back.”
Then it began.
“Have you no shame?!” she shrieked, loud enough for nearby tables to turn. “My kids were ill, and you’re hounding me for money? Course you wouldn’t get it—you don’t even have children!”
It felt like a slap. Jenny was on the offensive.
“And what about your gift? We bought you one! Just forgot it at home. Cost five hundred, mind! So we’re square. Never took you for a penny-pincher!”
“What gift? You didn’t give me anything,” I murmured, stunned.
“Forgot! But it exists!” she barked. “Right, we’re off! Gary, move it! We’re not appreciated here!”
Her husband finished his chicken leg, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and trudged after her without a word.
Once they’d gone, my mother-in-law—Margaret—took my arm and steered me aside.
“Your own fault for lending. I never do with my daughter. If I give, I know it’s gone. Your five hundred paid for that necklace she’s wearing.”
My breath hitched.
“And no one bought you a gift. Pure fiction. Count yourself lucky it wasn’t your health paying the price. Call it a life lesson,” she said with a wink.
Jenny cut contact. Eight months—no calls, no texts. Then, out of nowhere, she was upset I hadn’t sent a birthday greeting.
“Thought you’d at least transfer something,” she snipped over the phone.
“Didn’t you get it?” my husband feigned surprise. “Check last October. Five hundred.”
“Hilarious!” she hissed before slamming the phone down.
We never spoke again. Met five years later—at Margaret’s funeral. Six months after, we sold her flat, split the proceeds. And since then, neither of us has reached out. Honestly? It’s been a relief.
