My brother-in-law’s sister decided it was our duty—and ours alone—to spoil her kids.
I married Oliver almost eight years ago. He’s kind, caring, and wears his heart on his sleeve. Only one problem—he’s got a sister. Emily. A woman with endless imagination and an uncanny knack for turning any casual remark into a thinly veiled request… for an expensive gift.
She never said things outright. Her words always sounded like harmless musings:
*”The kids are desperate to see that new animated film, but tickets are so pricey these days.”* She’d sigh wistfully. And my Oliver, the second he heard it, would rush to buy tickets, personally take the nieces and nephews to the cinema, and throw in a full combo with popcorn and drinks.
*”Lovely weather today,”* she’d continue. *”Shame to waste it indoors. The theme park would be perfect!”* And guess who ended up taking her kids on the rides? Us, naturally. Footing the bill, of course.
I don’t do hints. Never have. I prefer people just say what they mean. Ask directly. Explain. Don’t dance around pretending you didn’t want anything.
But Oliver? He always caught her *”hints”* instantly. He adored his nieces and nephews, absolutely doted on them. But the way he spoiled them—it was too much. Bikes, gadgets, days out—it became the norm. Emily only had to bat her eyelashes, and off he went.
Recently, it was little Charlie’s christening anniversary—Emily’s son. We’d already gifted him a fancy bike that cost us a pretty penny. I thought that was more than enough. But to Emily? The bike was pocket change. In her eyes, the boy *needed* a holiday abroad. And not alone—with her, naturally. *”A child can’t travel unaccompanied!”*
In Emily-speak, it sounded like this:
*”Charlie’s been dreaming of Paris—his eyes light up every time he sees the Eiffel Tower on telly!”*
Oliver came home with a birthday cake and a set of monogrammed cushions instead of plane tickets. I was at work that day, so he went alone. And, as you can imagine, his sister was *not* pleased.
But Emily didn’t give up. Her demands grew yearly. Oliver didn’t seem to mind—we didn’t have kids of our own, so he poured all his energy into his nieces and nephews. Maybe because he had all this fatherly love with nowhere else to put it.
Then—the news we’d waited for. I was pregnant. Oliver cried from happiness, kissed my belly, couldn’t believe it. He’d dreamt of this for years. And then Emily showed up…
With *another* request. This time, a trip to Berlin for the bank holiday. *With* the kids, naturally. Oliver said no—for the first time ever. Told her all our resources were going into our growing family now. His sister *exploded*.
Next day, she rang me. Screaming. Accused me:
*”How dare you?! This is all your doing—stealing the only man who ever cared for my children!”*
I hung up without a word.
Then came Act Two. The nieces and nephews ambushed Oliver outside his office. Handed him homemade cards.
*”Uncle, please don’t abandon us…”*
*”Why do you need your own kids when you’ve already got us?”*
Someone *clearly* helped word those. And we both knew who.
Oliver came home, sank onto the sofa, stared at the cards… and something inside him just *clicked*.
*”I’ve been a fool,”* he said. *”How many years did I let this go on? The *‘broken microwave’*, the *‘can’t afford school uniforms’*, the *‘dad’s gone—Uncle, help us’*. She’s been using those kids to manipulate me. And I fell for it. Like an idiot.”*
Then he grabbed a notepad. Started listing everything: bikes, phones, summer camps, holidays, gadgets, coats, West End tickets. The total? A small fortune.
Cue Emily’s grand finale.
She marched into our house like she owned the place and announced:
*”Since you’re having your own baby soon, how about one last good deed? Give us your car. Doesn’t have to be new—I’m not greedy. Just something to ferry the kids around.”*
Oliver slid the notepad across the table.
*”That’s what you owe me. Pay up. You’ve got six months. After that—court.”*
She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the broom fell off the hook.
Then came the social media blitz. Emily’s friends bombarded my accounts, ranting about how I’d *”destroyed the sacred bond between uncle and nieces/nephews”*, how the kids were now *”starving, abandoned, their mother in despair”*.
But I didn’t flinch.
Emily owns two flats—one from her ex-husband, the other because Oliver gave up his inheritance for her. She gets child support, lives comfortably. She’s just used to everyone bending over backwards for her. And now? They won’t.
We’re having a baby. And for the first time, my husband has a *real* family. No manipulation, no drama, no theatrics. And honestly? Feels like our story’s only just beginning.
