**Diary Entry**
“Family first,” my husband said, choosing where his loyalties lay.
“Tom, for heavens sake, dont just stand there like a lamppost! Help me with the shopping!” Emma shouted from the hallway, peeling off her rain-soaked coat.
With a sigh, Thomas dragged himself away from the football match on telly and trudged to the door. Rain drummed against the windows, chilling the flat with damp air.
“Went to the farmers’ market again, did you? Place is a rip-off,” he muttered, eyeing the heavy bags.
“And where else am I supposed to get decent tomatoes? The supermarket ones taste like cardboard. Sophies coming round tomorrow with the kidswanted to make her favourite beef stew.”
Emma bustled about the kitchen, unpacking groceries while Thomas watched silently. She always went all out when his younger sister visitedlike it was some grand occasion. The best cuts of meat, the fancy china, the house spotless.
“Dont see the point in splashing out like this,” he grumbled. “Sophies not fussy.”
“Fussy or not, guests deserve a proper welcome. Especially family,” Emma said firmly, stacking veg in the fridge.
She knew he disapproved, but she did it anywayon principle. Sophie Thomasalways “Sophie Thomas” in her head, never just “Sophie”wasnt just his sister. To Emma, she was an untouchable ideal. Beautiful, successful, two perfect kids, a husband with a good job. Lived in London, worked in finance, dressed like she stepped out of a magazine. Next to her, Emma always felt like a frumpy shadow.
The doorbell cut through her thoughts.
“Thats early,” Thomas frowned, checking his watch. “They said after lunch.”
But it wasnt Sophie. It was Mrs. Wilkins from next door, red-eyed and trembling.
“Emma, love, youve got to help me! My Charlies gone missingmy tabby! Three days now, not a trace. Have you seen him?”
Emma ushered the old woman in, put the kettle on. Mrs. Wilkins lived alone; that cat was her whole world.
“Havent spotted him, no. Maybe hes locked in somewhere? Checked the cellar?”
“Everywhere! Even asked the caretakersnothing. Oh, whatll I do without my Charlie?”
Thomas rolled his eyes and turned back to the telly. He couldnt stand the neighbours dramatics, or Mrs. Wilkins constant sniffling. Emma poured tea and sat with her, listening patiently to the old womans woes.
An hour later, Mrs. Wilkins left, and Thomas snapped.
“Weve got guests today, and youre wasting time on some daft old bat and her bloody cat!”
“Tom, have a heart! Shes grieving. Id be the same if it were Charlie.”
“A cat! Its a bloody animal! Sophies bringing the kids, and youve not even started dinner!”
Emma clenched her jaw. There it was again*Sophie*. As if life didnt matter unless she was in it.
That evening, the family arrived. Sophie Thomas was flawless, as always. Tailored blazer, polished heels, hair sleek. The kidsten-year-old Oliver and eight-year-old Lilybarrelled straight to Uncle Tom.
“Uncle Tom! You promised to show us that new game!” Lily chirped.
“Course I did!” He laughed, ruffling their hair. “Just get changed first.”
With his sister, he transformed. Warm, attentive, *alive*. Emma watched, stung. Why wasnt he ever like that with her?
At dinner, conversation limped along. The kids chattered about school, Sophie about work, Thomas hanging on her every word. Emma stayed quiet, refilling glasses, passing plates.
“Remember when wed hide from Mums stew?” Sophie laughed. “Youd leg it to the garden, and Id crawl under the table!”
Thomas grinned. “Still cant stand carrots because of her.”
They reminisced, swapping stories only they understood. Emma sat there, an outsider at her own table.
Later, washing up, Sophie cornered her.
“Tom mentioned youre trying for a baby.”
Emma froze. Hed discussed *that* with her?
“Weve been married seven years,” she said carefully.
“Look, as his sister, I worry. Kids arent cheap. Youre renting, no savingswhat if something goes wrong?”
Emma set down a plate. “What business is it of yours?”
Sophie stiffened. “Hes my brother. If he struggles, Ill have to help.”
“So *thats* it,” Emma breathed. “You dont want the hassle.”
“Im being practical. Wait a few years. Get stable.”
In the lounge, Thomas and the kids were laughing. On the kitchen, Emmas hands shook.
That night, they argued.
“You told her? About us trying?”
“Shes got kids! She knows what its like!”
“Then whys she against it?”
“Because we cant afford it!”
Emma sat on the bed. “Do you even *want* children?”
“Not yet.”
“Or ever? Because Sophie says so?”
“Christ, Emma! This isnt about her!”
But it was. It always was.
The next morning, Lily piped up at breakfast:
“Auntie Emma, why dont you have babies?”
Silence. Thomas choked on his tea.
“Mum said you want one, but Uncle Toms scared youre skint!”
Sophie turned crimson.
Emma stood. “You told your *kids* our private business?”
Thomas tried to mediate, but the dam broke.
“Who matters more?” Emma demanded. “Me or Sophie?”
He faltered, then said the unforgivable:
“Sophies family. Youre… not.”
Emma packed a bag and left.
At her mums, she ignored his calls. His texts*I didnt mean it*meant nothing. Some words cant be unsaid.
Six months later, they divorced.
FunnyMrs. Wilkins spotted the truth before she had:
“Shame about your Tom. Always did love his sister more than you.”
Emma smiled. Better to be alone than someones second choice.
**Lesson learned:** Blood may be thicker than water, but it shouldnt drown you.
