“My Sister Let Me Down When I Needed Her Most – And We Haven’t Spoken Since”
“Hello, Vicky!” Olivia chirped as she dialled the number. “We thought we’d pop over to yours this weekend! That alright?”
“Hello…” came the icy reply. “No, it’s not.”
“What do you mean?” Olivia stammered.
“Exactly what I said,” Victoria snapped.
“Are you cross about something? I don’t understand…”
“You’re seriously asking? After what you did, I don’t want anything to do with you!” Victoria barked.
“What did I do? What are you on about?”
The sisters, the Witherspoons, had grown up in a village in Yorkshire. The elder, Victoria, stayed after school—trained as an accountant, married a local businessman, Andrew, built a home, had a son, Thomas, and helped run the family firm.
The younger, Olivia, dreamt of city life. She moved to Manchester for college, stayed on, working as a shop assistant in a chain store. She and her husband, James, a factory worker, lived in a tiny rented flat. Two years after their wedding, their daughter Lily arrived.
Despite the distance, the sisters stayed close. Once Lily turned one, Olivia became a frequent guest at Victoria’s—fresh air for the baby, and an extra pair of hands didn’t hurt. Weekends turned into weeks, sometimes even a month.
Victoria always welcomed them. There was space, and Lily was sweet and quiet. Soon, Olivia began leaving Lily alone—first for a day or two, then weeks, even a whole summer. “Just need a break,” she’d say. Victoria never refused, even though working from home with a child underfoot was a bother.
Olivia, though, never returned the favour. Their cramped flat was no place for guests, so when Victoria’s family visited Manchester, they paid for lodgings—Olivia often “too busy” to see them, always at appointments or shopping. A quick cuppa at best.
Victoria brushed it off. The kids got on, and family was family—even if Olivia was far from perfect.
When Thomas was set to start uni, Victoria fell ill—high fever, too weak to move. Andrew promised to drive him, but couldn’t stay—work called. So Victoria rang Olivia:
“Liv, love,” she rasped. “Could you help Thomas tomorrow? Take him to the uni, sort his paperwork… Let him stay over? Andrew’ll fetch him in the morning.”
A long silence.
“Sorry, can’t,” Olivia said breezily.
“Why not?” Victoria’s stomach dropped.
“I’ve got a hair appointment, then shopping—Lily’s off to camp soon, needs new things.”
“Olivia, I’ve *never* asked you for anything. Just *one* day—”
“Honestly, I just can’t,” Olivia cut in.
“What about letting him stay? He’ll sleep on the floor!”
“Vicky, he’s a grown lad. Where’s he meant to go? Lily’s room? Bit awkward, isn’t it? And the flat’s tiny—you know that.”
Victoria’s throat tightened. Years of yeses—letting them stay, feeding them, helping—and *this* was her thanks.
“Right. Understood,” she whispered.
In the end, Andrew’s distant cousin, barely more than an acquaintance, stepped up—drove Thomas, helped with forms, even showed him round town.
Thomas got in. His parents rented him a flat. He grew up steady, reliable. But Victoria never forgot: when she needed family most, her sister turned her back.
A month later:
“Hi! Me and Lily want to come down for a week—I’ve got leave, she’s on holiday!”
“No,” Victoria said flatly.
“…No?”
“Correct. You’re not staying here again. Fancy a countryside break? Rent somewhere. But don’t expect a thing from me.”
“Is this about Thomas?”
“Absolutely. One single ask, and you fobbed me off. Years of you swanning in for free holidays, but the one time I need help, you’re too busy primping and shopping.”
“Look, I’m sorry—”
“Save it,” Victoria said.
They never spoke again. Lily and Thomas kept in touch—Victoria didn’t interfere. The girl was blameless. But she never slept under that roof again.
To this day, Olivia doesn’t think she did wrong. *”Her place is huge—what’s the fuss?”* But she never set foot in that house again.
Sometimes no sister is better than one you can’t rely on when it counts.
