Katherine had just settled into her favorite armchair, tea in hand, when the phone rang. The voice on the other end was sharp, demanding.
“Katie, has Thomas told you yet?” her mother-in-law, Margaret, snapped without preamble. “Listentherell be twenty guests. Well start cooking the evening before. Ill arrive by six.”
“Evening?” Katherines grip tightened around her mug. “No. That wasnt agreed.”
“Wait, Im not finished,” Margaret cut in. “Thomas already has the shopping list. Hes promised to get everything.”
Thomas always bent over backwards for his older sister, Charlotte. By thirty, shed been married twice, divorced twicenever her fault, of course. Their mother had drilled it into him since childhood: *”Your sister needs you.”*
And so Thomas helpedfinancially, when Charlotte was *”between jobs,”* with repairs in her rented flat, or hauling her things after yet another breakup. Then he married Katherine.
At first, she tolerated it. But when Charlotte asked to borrow their car *”just for a few days”* for the fifth time that year, Katherine set her cup down with deliberate calm.
“Thomas, dont you think its enough? We need the car this weekend. I thought we had plans.”
“Whats so important? Cant you manage without it?”
“No. My parents cottage isnt walkable. Theyve got two crates of tomatoes for us. Did you even hear me mention it?”
“Isort of. But Charlottes in a bind.”
“Again? What *kind* of bind?”
“Not sure,” Thomas muttered, “but she needs it more.”
“No. Not this time. Either you say no, or buy me my own car. Im tired of buses while your sister treats ours like a rental.”
For the first time, Thomas hesitated. He reached for his phonebut Margaret swooped in like a rescue helicopter.
“Youd abandon your sister for *her*? Charlottes alone! Who else will help her?”
And so he caved. Again.
One silent dinner stretched into days. Finally, Thomas slammed his fork down.
“Whats with the silent treatment? Are you seriously sulking?”
“*Three days* to notice? Brilliant.”
“Whats your problem?”
She laughed, incredulous. “You spent the weekend at some strangers cottage because Charlotte *needed* you there. You didnt even call.”
“You couldve rung *me*.”
“I *did*. Your phone was off. Imagine my panicwheres my husband? Oh, just off drinking with her ex.”
“Stop exaggerating.” He waved her off as his phone buzzed.
Out on the balcony, he answered.
“Tommy!” Charlotte chirped. “My thirtieths in two weeks! You *get* it, right?”
His eyes flicked to Katherine, ladling soup in the kitchen.
“What do you want?”
“You read my mind!” She giggled. “Im hosting it at yours! Your lounge is huge. My landlords a nightmare, and restaurants cost a fortune.”
“What if I chip in for a venue?”
“Are you *mad*?” she shrilled. “Its my *milestone*! Why should I pay when youve got a *perfect* flat? Mums handling the menu.”
A text pingedMargaret.
*”Charlottes finalized dishes. Send Katie the shopping list. Shell help prep.”*
Katherine, oblivious, unpaused her show. Thomas shuffled in, eyes down.
“Out with it,” she said flatly.
“Love Charlottes turning thirty. Its a big one. She wants to celebrate here.”
“Fine. Let her.”
“Its here. At ours.”
“*What?*” She stood. “And you agreed?”
“I said Id check with you! But shes already invited everyone. Mums planning the food”
“Wait.” Her voice turned glacial. “Youre telling me *now*? My homes a free venue, Im your unpaid caterer, and *no one* asked me?”
The phone rang again. Margaret.
“Katie, Thomas explained? Twenty guests. Well need the kitchen from six *the night before*.”
“Evening? No. That wasnt the deal.”
“Dont interrupt. Hes handling groceries.”
“And the *cost*?”
“Thomas will cover it.”
“So *our* home becomes your banquet hall, *we* pay, and I play sous-chef?”
“Charlottes *family*!” Margaret hissed. “Must you be so selfish?”
“Selfish?” Katherines laugh was razor-sharp. “If this were *Thomass* flat, youd call me a gold-digger.”
“Enough! Shoppings done by Friday.” The line went dead.
Thomas crossed his arms. “Stop playing victim. Just admit youre wrong.”
Wordlessly, Katherine pulled a duffel bag from the closet. She packed his clothes methodically, while he cracked open a beer, smug, certain shed cave.
Half an hour later, she stood by the door, bag at her feet.
“Whats thissome stunt?” he scoffed.
“No stunt. Its over.” Her voice was steel. “Be the devoted brother. Go back to Mummy. Im sure shell *love* hosting your sisters party.”
“Youre *kicking me out*?”
“If youd rather stay married, you shouldve acted like it.”
He grabbed the bag, face purple. “Youll regret this! No onell want you!”
She smiled. “No one sounds *marvelous*.”
—
Months later, the divorce was finalized. Thomas fought dirtyespecially over the car.
“*I* paid for it!” he spat in court. “She just drove it!”
Katherine slid bank statements across the table: transfers, receipts, the deposit agreement bearing her name.
The judge ruled in her favor.
At Margarets, Thomas faced a different trial.
“You *fool*!” she screeched. “You lost the car! The flat! Didnt even hire a proper solicitor!”
Worse, hed taken a loanto host Charlottes *”makeup celebration”* at a posh restaurant. Now he slept on Margarets fold-out.
Katherine, meanwhile, slept soundly. She was too young to waste years on men like Thomas.
Good ones were everywhereif you knew when to walk away.
