I am insanely envious of my younger sister, Jessica. Her life feels like a fairy tale, where she is the princess and her husband fulfills her every whim like a loyal knight. Meanwhile, I feel like an exhausted Cinderella, carrying the weight of our family on my shoulders, overwhelmed by fatigue and hopelessness. At times, I think I might be the most foolish and unhappy woman alive. My husband, James, and I have been together for nearly ten years. We’ve been through a lot – there were moments of happiness, but more often than not, we’ve faced dark times full of challenges.
We’ve now entered one of the gloomiest periods of our lives. A year ago, James decided to change jobs. We were promised the moon: steady income, good conditions, a bright future. But reality turned out to be a cruel joke on our hopes. The new position was a nightmare, even worse than the last one, and now James places all the blame on me, as if I alone pushed him into this abyss.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, for me to change jobs? Well, are you happy now?” he sneers at every opportunity.
But who could have predicted such a turn? I only wanted him to grow, for our family to finally escape perpetual poverty. How could I have known it would turn into a catastrophe? Now, we’re drowning in a financial hole. My salary is the only thing keeping us afloat because James’s payments have been delayed for several months. We barely make ends meet, and every day, I feel the weight pressing down on me even more.
Last spring, my phone broke. Repairing it would have cost almost as much as a new device, so we decided to put off buying one. For months, I struggled with an old tablet until we had to pawn it. Along with it went almost all my gold jewelry – the few remnants of better days. We needed money urgently, and I gave up everything I had. James’s things? No, we didn’t touch them – only my sacrifices were used.
Jessica, my younger sister, took pity on me and gave me her old phone so I could at least stay connected. I was giving my all to ensure my family wasn’t hungry. Yes, James also works and sometimes takes on extra jobs, but he does it with such resistance, as if I’m forcing him into hard labor. Each time, I have to coax and almost beg him to contribute.
Recently, Jessica’s husband, David, casually mentioned that she asked for the newest iPhone for her birthday. I felt a sharp sting of envy – a feeling I’m ashamed of but can’t suppress. They rent an apartment in London, just like us, but everything is different for them. Jessica manages David like a puppet: he works as a taxi driver in the evenings, travels for work, saves money and pleases her in everything. Her salary is her own little treasure, which she spends solely on herself. Last year, she simply walked into a boutique and bought herself a luxurious coat because she wanted to.
“A man should provide for the home, food, and all other concerns,” she declares with the confidence of a queen.
Jessica is truly beautiful. She spends all her money on herself: eyelash extensions, perfect manicures, well-groomed eyebrows, stylish hairstyles, fashionable clothes, and other feminine delights. Beside her, I feel like a gray shadow – worn out, unkempt, and forgotten. I can’t even remember the last time I went to the hairdresser, let alone had a manicure. Everything I earn goes to the family, and James doesn’t even think of bringing in any extra cash. Any side job or change in life has to be dragged out of him with great difficulty.
The other day, I got my paycheck, and James hinted again that we’d have to cover rent and food from my earnings. I’m torn with resentment: he doesn’t even try to change anything or make any effort for us.
“You know money is tight, and my paycheck is late again,” he grumbled when I asked what he’d get me for my birthday.
Yet if he doesn’t receive a gift on a holiday, he sulks like a child. I always try to make him happy, to find even a small token so he doesn’t feel deprived. And him? I don’t expect costly phones or luxurious surprises – happiness isn’t about money. But even a simple sign of attention or a small gesture of care from him is too much to ask. He just doesn’t get it.
I thought our troubles were temporary, just a rough patch that would soon end. But now I see: it’s not just a phase, it’s our entire life. I’ve tried talking to James, it has even led to arguments, but he just shrugs: “Paychecks are late, what can I do?”
“And if we had kids, how would we survive then?” I asked in despair one day.
He said nothing. And I look at Jessica, and the envy eats me up inside. I’m ashamed of these feelings, but they are stronger than me. Her husband spoils her, showers her with gifts, buys her whatever she wishes, while I am still using her discarded old phone. Why do some women, like Jessica, get everything? Is it just good fortune? Or is it the men? Why is life a constant celebration for some, a mere snap of the fingers away, while for me it’s an endless gray gloom?
