My sister wants to move into our flat, but my husband is dead against it: I’m caught between a rock and a hard place.
My name’s Emily. Right now, I’m stuck in an impossible situation—risking a fallout with either my own sister or the man I love. My heart’s torn, and my mind won’t settle on the right choice.
My older sister Charlotte has always had a complicated relationship with me. Three years my senior, she’s resented me since we were kids, convinced I got more dolls, sweets, and clothes from our parents. Truth is, Mum and Dad loved us the same. I was just easier to please, while she took everything for granted.
I remember how she’d snatch toys from me just to make me cry, never to play with them. And that attitude never changed.
When I met James—my now-husband—Charlotte only grew colder. Behind my back, she whispered to our parents that our marriage wouldn’t last. I was 22, James was 24. Charlotte, already 25, hadn’t so much as a boyfriend in sight.
After we married, James and I moved in with his mum. But soon after, she remarried—a bloke from abroad—and moved away, leaving us her two-bed flat in Manchester.
A couple of years later, James’s grandad passed and willed him another two-bed in a different part of town. Suddenly, we had two properties on our hands.
We decided to rent one out, saving the income for our son Oliver’s education. He’s 12 now, and we know how fast time flies.
Meanwhile, as if racing to catch up, Charlotte rushed into marriage with the first man she met—a lazy, shiftless chap named Daniel. He scrapes by on odd jobs, yet she’s had three kids with him. The four of them cram into a tiny studio flat, bought with government grants and a bit of help from our parents.
I’ve always pitied my nieces and nephews—shabby, hungry, always ill. Our parents tried helping Charlotte financially, but pensions don’t stretch far.
James and I kept the rental a secret from her for nearly eighteen months. But eventually, she found out.
Then one day, she turned up on my doorstep with a demand:
“Em, you’ve got to understand!” she near sobbed. “You’ve got a flat sitting empty while we’re packed in like sardines! There’s a brilliant arts school near yours—Sophie dreams of dancing, and Harry wants music lessons! Help us out. Let us stay rent-free for a bit. Once Daniel finds work, I’ll get a job too—we’ll pay something, I swear. We’re family!”
Looking at her, I felt a awful mix of pity and dread. Pity for the kids—and dread for what it’d cost us.
I told James everything.
“No,” he snapped. “Over my dead body! That lot’ll trash the place, and we’ll never see a penny! Think Daniel’s suddenly going to get his act together? The man’s never held down a job in his life! And your sister’ll just pop out another kid to avoid working!”
I tried reasoning—saying it’d be temporary, that they were just in a rough spot.
“Do you even believe that?” he scoffed. “Give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. No. I’m finding new tenants tomorrow.”
The next morning, Charlotte rang:
“We’re nearly packed! Just a few boxes left—we’ll be moving in soon! Get ready!”
I sat there, phone in hand, frozen. I didn’t tell her it was pointless. I didn’t say we wouldn’t let them.
I’m terrified of upsetting Mum—her heart’s weak. A shock could kill her.
I’m afraid of losing Charlotte for good—but just as afraid of wrecking things with James.
I’m stuck choosing, and it’s tearing me apart.
My heart says to help family. But my head—and every old wound from childhood—reminds me: Charlotte’s always taken, never given.
And James? He’s been my rock—supporting me, building a life with me. Now he’s asking one thing: to protect what we’ve made.
So I know, hard as it is, I’ll have to say no.
I’ll have to find the strength to turn my sister away. Let her rage. Let her hate me. I’m choosing my husband, my son, our future.
But God, it hurts. To know that your own flesh and blood could force such a wretched choice…
