My younger sister’s name is Emily. For as long as I can remember, she’s always played the victim. Nothing ever goes right for her, life is always hard, and everyone’s to blame—except herself. She’s never been one to solve her own problems, preferring instead to wait for someone else to drop everything and rush to her rescue. To put it simply, she’s spent her whole life believing the world owes her.
Right after graduating, Emily got married. And I won’t say she was unlucky—quite the opposite. She landed an opportunity many would envy. Her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, turned out to be a kind-hearted and sensible woman. She owned a small flat in London, inherited from a distant aunt. Rather than renting it out straightaway as she’d planned, Margaret let the newlyweds live there rent-free, staying herself in her own two-bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. All so the young couple could save up for a place of their own. But alas, such generosity often goes unappreciated.
Emily wasn’t exactly one for hard work. She was quite content spending her days lounging on the sofa with telly, tea, and social media. Getting a job after university? Why bother when you could have a baby and go on maternity leave instead? That’s exactly what happened—within a year, she was pushing a pram, and not long after, her husband filed for divorce and vanished. So there she was, alone. And who took her in? Margaret, of course.
Margaret showed her kindness once more—letting Emily stay in the flat until she got back on her feet. To Margaret, that meant finding work, saving for a house deposit, and slowly standing on her own two feet. But Emily had a different idea of “getting back on her feet”: lounging until she was forced out.
Margaret did what she could—watching the child, buying toys, helping with groceries. Meanwhile, Emily splurged on holidays abroad, designer clothes, and flaunted new handbags and makeup on Instagram—all while still occupying the flat for free. Her ex-husband, mind you, wasn’t idle—he’d taken out a mortgage, remarried, and built his own life. Yet my sister seemed convinced she didn’t have to lift a finger—everyone else owed her.
Seven years passed. By then, Margaret, well into her retirement, reminded Emily she’d always intended to rent out the flat for extra income. She politely asked Emily to think about moving out. And what do you suppose happened? My sister threw a scene that would put Shakespearean drama to shame. Screaming and sobbing, she wailed about being thrown onto the streets with her child—naturally, in front of the child and her ex-husband.
No one was throwing her out. Our parents live in a spacious country house in Surrey with a spare room for Emily and her child. But she doesn’t want to go there. Why? Because at our parents’, she’d actually have to pitch in—tidy up after herself, wake early, help around the house—and she’s grown accustomed to a life of ease. So she tried shifting the burden onto me.
My husband and I had only just paid off the deposit on our mortgage, finished renovating, and started renting out the flat. The rent covers our monthly payments, and we’re living in my husband’s place for now. Emily found out and, without a shred of shame, suggested we “let her stay for six months.” Rent-free, of course. She swore half a year was all she needed to sort herself out.
But I know Emily. Those six months would stretch into eight years. She’d wreck our flat’s renovation within weeks, then act offended when I refused to “help my own sister.” So I stood firm: “No.” And it was the right choice. Emily flew into a rage—ranting to relatives, painting us as heartless, even turning her son against the family.
But I won’t be manipulated anymore. My husband and I work hard, building our future. We didn’t jet off to the Riviera or buy designer labels—we saved and scrimped. We’re not obliged to pay for someone else’s laziness and carelessness.
Even now, I can’t fathom it—how could seven years pass without a single thought for the future? Did she think she’d live in Margaret’s flat forever? Or was she waiting for another relative to toss her another property? Worst of all is her entitlement—even her own son became a bargaining chip in her performance of “Poor, pitiful me, cast out into the cold.”
What do you do with a sister like this? Do I keep trying, or is it time to cut ties for good? I’m tired of being the one who “owes” her.
