**Diary Entry**
This morning, I muttered a half-hearted “Good morning” to my colleagues as I slumped into my chair and switched on my computer. Lisa and Emily exchanged glances before responding, their eyebrows raised at my unusually sombre mood. Normally, I’m the chatty, easygoing one in the office, but today I just couldn’t muster my usual cheer. Outside, the sky was as grey as my mood, a steady drizzle pattering against the windows.
The silence didn’t last long—Lisa, never one for prolonged quiet, piped up, “Fancy a cuppa? I’ll put the kettle on.” She disappeared behind the partition where the coffee machine, mugs, and a biscuit tin were kept.
“Sounds good,” Emily agreed, while I just sat there, staring blankly.
There are three of us in the office—me, married with a son, thirty years old; Lisa, thirty-six, married with two children; and Emily, twenty-seven, unmarried but living with her boyfriend. Lisa’s always been the most proactive, whether because she’s the eldest or just naturally energetic. Most ideas come from her, and the rest of us tend to follow.
She returned with a tray of steaming mugs, handing me one first. I took it with a silent nod of thanks.
“Ta, Lisa,” Emily said, grinning. “You’re our resident tea lady.”
They both laughed, and I managed a weak smile. Lisa, unable to stand the tension any longer, finally asked, “What’s up, love? You’re never this quiet—did we do somethin’?”
“Oh, no, it’s not you,” I sighed. “Just family drama.”
“Not with Mark, surely?” Emily looked surprised. They all knew my marriage was solid—Mark and I rarely argued.
“Not him, no. Relatives.”
“Ah. Sarah again?” Lisa rolled her eyes. “Honestly, just ignore her.”
“I *can’t* ignore her—we live next door to each other! It’s not like we can just move—we’ve got a perfectly good house. Mark brushes it off, and his brother, Pete, is decent enough, but Sarah… she’s something else. I finally told her off last night, and now I dread seeing her.”
When I married Mark, his father had just finished building a second house on their property. We moved in straight after the wedding, since Pete and Sarah—with their little boy—were already in the main house. Both places were sturdy, well-built—his dad had been a site manager, so materials came cheap.
But only a week after we married, tragedy struck. Mark and Pete’s parents died in a car accident. Since then, we’ve lived side by side in that shared yard.
At first, it was fine. Sarah and I even had babies around the same time—my first, a boy, and her second, a girl. Everything felt parallel.
“This is nice, living so close to your brother,” I’d say cheerfully.
“Suppose,” Mark would reply, never one for excessive sentiment.
The kids grew, Sarah and I went back to work, and life settled—until I realised just how different we were. People have their own ways, I get that, but Sarah’s always been loud, opinionated. Mark and I never raised our voices, but from Pete’s house? Shouting, swearing—Sarah making sure *everyone* knew she was displeased.
“There she goes again,” Mark would mutter. “Poor Pete.”
I’m quiet, peace-loving. Sarah? My polar opposite.
“I like my own company,” I’d explain. “Family is my whole world—Mark and our lad are enough. I value calm.” And Mark was the same—we were lucky that way.
I grew up in a quiet, loving home. My parents adored me and my sister, never fought—so of course, that shaped how I saw family.
But Sarah? *”We should all stick together!”* she’d declare. *”Family means living in each other’s pockets!”*
I understood the sentiment, but… *”We’re relatives, yes, but my family is Mark and my son.”*
Mark agreed, but Sarah’s *need* to control everything wore on me. Each house stood separate, yet she acted like queen of the yard. As the elder sister-in-law, she’d appointed herself boss, and I’d gone along with it—now, there was no undoing it.
I was raised to knock, to ask before entering. Sarah? She’d barge in like a hurricane, no warning, no care if we were busy—even when our boy was tiny, and I was feeding or settling him.
*”Oh, you’re putting him down? Fine, I’ll come back later,”* she’d say—but by then, the little one would be wide-eyed, startled by her noise.
*”Mark,”* I’d complain, *”it’s like she does it on purpose.”* He’d nod, just as frustrated, but what could we do?
Weekends were worst. I loved rising early, savouring my coffee in the quiet dawn before Mark and our boy woke. I’d make breakfast—scrambled eggs, porridge—relishing the slow, unhurried start.
Then—*thud*—Sarah’s face at the window.
*”Ooh, you’re up! Pour me one, I’ll be right in!”* And she’d burst through the door, despite them still sleeping. *”Oh, you’ve made breakfast—I’ll join you!”*
I *hated* that. I hadn’t cooked for *her*. But I couldn’t just kick her out. Sometimes I’d make excuses, but rarely.
*”What, you begrudge me a few bites?”* she’d snipe. Then she’d stomp off in a huff, making every chance meeting that day awkward.
Sarah was ruled by mood. *”If I wake up happy, I’m sunshine all day. If not? Watch out.”*
*”Not something to brag about,”* Pete would mutter—but one sharp look from her, and he’d back down.
Once, sweeping near our window, I overheard them.
*”Stay out of Mark’s business, Sarah,”* Pete said. *”You wouldn’t like it if they barged in on us.”*
I didn’t stay to hear her retort—better they didn’t catch me listening. But it was baffling: *Pete* got it. Why didn’t *she*?
Last night, we’d ordered sushi—a treat to celebrate our son’s straight As. As I went to collect it, Sarah spotted me—then erupted.
*”Sushi?! Why didn’t you tell us? We’d have joined you!”* Then came the swearing, the accusations—a full-blown scene in the yard, both brothers rushing out. Pete dragged her inside, still shrieking, while Mark guided me back, my eyes stinging.
*”Why must I justify every choice to her?”* I’d cried. *”Why can’t we have one quiet meal without her interference?”*
Mark soothed me as best he could. I didn’t blame him—or Pete. But after, I admitted: *”I’d be relieved if Sarah never spoke to me again. She’s everywhere, in everything. Pete’s barely noticeable—but her? Exhausting.”*
I’d shared all this with Lisa and Emily this morning, hence my gloom.
*”Bloody hell,”* Lisa huffed. *”Ten years of that? I’d have booted her out long ago. Tea’s one thing, but barging in? No.”*
Emily agreed. *”You’ve got your own family, love. Just forget her.”*
Lisa snorted. *”Easier said than done. People like her *need* to control everything. Best you can do is shut her out.”*
I knew they meant well, but they’d never dealt with Sarah. Still, I’d made up my mind: next time, I *won’t* just take it—no matter how I was raised.
