*”You shameless woman! You have no children, while I am a mother!”* — how my sister-in-law caused a scene at my anniversary to avoid repaying a debt.
My thirty-fifth birthday was meant to be simple, without much fuss. But life, as it often does, has a way of turning even the most ordinary occasion into a full-blown drama. A month before the celebration, Jenny—my husband’s sister—rang me up. We’d never quite got on, and her call set my nerves on edge.
*”Where are you planning to celebrate?”* she asked, as if already packing her bags.
*”Haven’t thought about it yet,”* I replied, caught off guard. It was too soon to discuss it, especially knowing Jenny’s ways.
*”Oh, so you must have money to spare! Lend me and George five hundred quid. Desperately needed—I’ll pay you back in a fortnight, promise!”* Her voice took on that pitiful whine that always made my skin crawl.
I never liked borrowing or lending, especially not to people like Jenny. From the moment we’d met, she’d tried to *”borrow”* money—for her children, for home repairs, for some *”broken”* appliance. I had always refused, politely but firmly. Until now.
*”The children are ill—medicine’s expensive,”* she pressed, playing her final card.
I gave in. Sent the money. Two weeks passed—silence. A month—nothing. So I thought: I’ll simply remind her at the party.
We gathered in a cosy little restaurant. Glasses clinked, laughter rang out—but I couldn’t relax. Jenny and George arrived promptly, chatting, eating, laughing, as if nothing was amiss.
*”I lent your sister five hundred for medicine,”* I murmured to my husband when he noticed my tension.
*”You won’t see it again,”* he said bluntly. *”She still owes me three hundred from five years back. I know her—that money’s gone.”*
Still, I tried.
*”Jenny, happy you came. I wanted to ask—”*
*”Everything’s just smashing!”* she cut in, kissing my cheek. *”This trifle’s divine—you must give me the recipe!”*
*”It’s about the money. You borrowed five hundred last month—”*
Jenny threw her head back with a laugh. *”Five hundred? When did I ever take that from you? You always said no—can’t recall a thing!”*
I was stunned. *”I transferred it. For the medicine. I can show you the proof.”*
She paled, then stiffened. *”Oh… that. I don’t clutter my mind with trivialities.”*
*”You promised to repay it in a fortnight. It’s been a month—”*
Then came the blow-up.
*”Have you no shame?!”* she shrieked, drawing every eye in the room. *”My children were ill, and you’re hounding me for money! Of course you wouldn’t understand—you’ve no kids of your own!”*
It hit like a slap. Jenny pressed on.
*”And your gift? We bought you one! Left it at home, didn’t we? Cost five hundred, too! So we’re even. Never took you for a miser!”*
*”What gift? You brought nothing,”* I whispered.
*”Forgot! But it exists!”* she snapped. *”That’s it—we’re leaving! George, let’s go! No respect here!”*
Her husband wiped his mouth with his sleeve and followed without a word.
Once they’d gone, my mother-in-law—Margaret—drew me aside.
*”Your fault for lending. I never give Jenny a penny without knowing it’s gone. Those five hundred bought the necklace she’s wearing.”*
My breath caught.
*”And no gift was bought. Count yourself lucky it wasn’t worse—lesson learned.”* She winked, as if handing down wisdom.
Jenny cut ties. Eight months passed—no calls, no messages. Then, out of the blue: *”I’d have thought you’d at least send a card,”* she snapped over the phone.
*”Nothing came through?”* my husband feigned surprise. *”Check last October. Five hundred.”*
*”Very funny!”* She hung up.
We didn’t speak again. Years later, we met at Margaret’s funeral. Her flat was sold, the money divided. Since then, neither of us has reached out. And truth be told—it’s been a relief.
