**Diary Entry A Lesson in Boundaries**
Sophie had always tolerated her husbands family. But when his sister demanded to throw her birthday party at our placewithout even askingId had enough.
“James, has your sister spoken to you?” my mother-in-law, Margaret, chirped over the phone. “Listenwere expecting twenty people. Well need to start cooking the night before. Ill come round by six.”
“Six in the evening?” I frowned. “No, I never agreed to that.”
“Wait, Im not finished. James already has the shopping list. He promised to get everything.”
James always bent over backwards for his older sister, Hannah. By thirty, shed been married and divorced twicealways the mans fault, of course. Their mother had drilled it into him since childhood: “You must help your sister.” And so he didloans when Hannah was “between jobs,” fixing up her rented flat, moving her things after yet another breakup.
Then he married me.
At first, I endured it. But when Hannah askedfor the fifth time that yearto borrow our car “just for a few days” because hers had “broken down again,” Id had enough.
“James, dont you think its too much? We need the car this weekend. I thought we had plans.”
“Whats so urgent? Cant you walk?”
“No. My parents cottage isnt exactly walking distance. Theyve picked two crates of tomatoes for us. Did you even listen when I mentioned it?”
“Well, I vaguely remember, butHannahs in a tight spot.”
“Again? Whats the emergency this time?”
“Not sure,” he mumbled, “but she needs it more.”
“No, James. Not this time. Either you say no, or buy me my own car. Im sick of taking the bus while my husband chauffeurs his sister.”
For once, he hesitated. But Margaret swooped in like a rescue helicopter: “Youd abandon your sister for your wife? Shes all alone! Who else will help her?”
And so James cavedagain. One time, we didnt speak for days. He finally snapped, “Why the silent treatment? Are you sulking?”
“Wow, three whole days to notice!” I scoffed.
“I dont even know what youre angry about!”
“Really? Your sister hijacked you for the entire weekend because she needed a lift to her friends countryside house. I thought youd drop her off, but noyou stayed two days. Doesnt that bother you?”
“Why should it? We had a few drinks. Her ex was there, and we got on fine. Was I supposed to leave like some awkward stranger?”
“You couldve called.”
“You couldve too,” he shot back.
“I did. Your phone was off. Imagine how I feltno idea where my husband was while he was off playing happy families!”
“Stop exaggerating,” he muttered, just as his phone buzzed.
He stepped onto the balcony to take the callknowing full well I wouldnt appreciate another Hannah emergency.
“Hi, little brother!” she trilled. “My birthdays in two weeks! Thirty! You know what that means, right?”
James glanced at me stirring soup. “What do you want?”
“You read my mind!” she laughed. “I want to celebrate at yours! Your lounge is huge. My landlord would kill me for hosting, and a restaurants too dear.”
“What about a pub? Ill chip in.”
“Are you mad? Its my thirtieth! Why should I pay when youve got a perfectly good flat? And youll be paying anywayits not like Im loaded!”
“Let me talk to Sophie first. Its her home too.”
“Too late!” she cut in. “Ive already told everyone its at yours. Clear the place for the day, yeah? Mums handling the food.”
He sighed, rubbing his temples. Then his phone buzzed againMargaret:
*Hannahs finalised the menu. Heres the shopping list. Tell Sophie to help prep. And shed better pitch in with cooking.*
Meanwhile, oblivious, Id curled up with my phone to watch my favourite series. When James shuffled in, avoiding eye contact, I knew.
“What now?” I paused the show.
“Soph Hannahs turning thirty. She wants to celebrate here.”
I looked up. “Fine. No ones stopping her.”
He scratched his neck. “Thing is she wants it at ours.”
“What? *Here?*” I stood. “And you agreed?”
“I said Id check with you! But shes already invited everyone. Mums planned the menu”
I took a deep breath. “James. Are you an adult or just your sisters errand boy?”
“Dont start.”
“*Im* starting?” I waved my phone. “No one even *asked* me! This is *my* home, not Hannahs event space. Im expected to host, cook, and bow to your mumwithout a say?”
Just then, Margaret called.
“Oh, the cherry on top,” I muttered, shoving the phone at James.
“Sophie, has James told you?” she barrelled on. “Twenty guests. Cooking starts Friday night. Ill be over by six.”
“Friday *night?*” I laughed coldly. “No. That wasnt the deal.”
“WaitJames has the shopping list. Hes handling it.”
“Suppose he is,” I said. “Whos paying?”
“James will cover it, she clipped.
“Ah. So *my* flats the venue, *we* foot the bill, and Im just the unpaid caterer?”
“Hannahs *family*! Cant you help for *one* day? Chop some salad, make sandwichesyoure the lady of the house!”
“Margaret,” I cut in, “I just found out about this. I never agreed to host Hannahs party.”
“Enough with *my* flat! Youre marriedeverythings shared!”
“Funny. If this were Jamess flat, youd call me a freeloader. Fridays shopping? Not my problem.” I hung up.
James exploded. “Stop playing the victim! Just admit youre wrong and drop it!”
I stared, then walked to the wardrobe. Calmly, I pulled out a duffel bag and began packing his clothes.
He scoffed, grabbing a beer and flopping in front of the telly, certain Id cave.
Half an hour later, I stood by the door, his bag at my feet.
“Whats this? A drama performance?” he sneered.
“No drama,” I said. “Its over. I refuse to be a doormat in my own home. If you want to be the perfect son and brother, go live with your mum. Im sure shell *love* hosting Hannahs party with you.”
“Youre joking.”
“Dead serious. Im done questioning my worth. If three years couldnt teach you respect, nothing will.”
“Youre throwing everything awayover *this*?”
“Nothings left to throw.”
He gaped, still not grasping it.
“And here,” I tossed him his car keys, “your shirts and jeans are packed. No need to thank me. Leave. Now.”
He fumed, cheeks flushed. “Youll regret this! Whod even want you? Men like me dont grow on trees!”
I smirked. “Thank God for that.”
“Youll come crawling back!” he spat, snatching the bag. “Without me, youre *nothing*!”
“If nothing means a woman with her own home, job, and self-respect? Ill take it.”
I watched from the window as he kicked his bag into a taxi.
Months later, the divorce was messy. James fought for the car, insisting hed paid for it alone.
“Your Honour, the cars in my name!” he declared. “My wife never contributed!”
I slid bank statements across the tabletransfers, receipts, even the deposit agreement with my signature.
“I dont want his share. But I wont surrender mine.”
The judge ruled fairly.
James stormed out, furious. At home, Margaret screeched, “You *fool*! You let her take everything! Couldnt even hire a proper solicitor!”
Worse, hed taken out a loanto host Hannahs *restaurant* party after Id refused our flat. Now he slept on Margarets sofa.
As for me? I slept soundly for the first time in years. Id learned my lesson: lifes too short for men who treat you as an afterthought. There are better ones out thereif you know when to walk away.
