Oh, I’m at my wit’s end!” I almost shouted at my sister-in-law, but I held back. And here she comes again with her suitcase for another weekend…

Oh, what a bother! I almost shouted at my sisterinlaw, but I held back. And there she is again, showing up with her weekend suitcase
Youre exhausting me! I was about to yell at my husbands sister. I clenched my teeth. In response, she arrived once more, suitcase in hand, ready for the weekend.
My name is Élodie, Im thirtynine. Ive been married to Thibault for twelve years. We have a fairly solid family, our son is growing up, everything seems fine. Yet theres a but that has been poisoning my life for years: his sister, Juliette.
Juliette is eight years older than Thibault. She has never married, has no children. She lives alone in the house opposite ours and in reality, she also lives with us. Im not exaggerating. She appears in our apartment like a shadowquiet, persistent, every single day. Sometimes I feel she has an endless supply of keys to our building.
At first I tried to be polite, even kind. After all, shes my husbands sister, family. I told myself she would drop by, chat, have a tea and then leave. But she came every evening. And on weekends. And during our holidays. Even when we had other guests. When I was ill, she was there.
Juliette knows no limits. She comments on everything: my cooking, the way we raise our son, my clothes. Sometimes Im too quiet, sometimes I laugh too loudly, my cake is too dry, the flat messy. She never asks, she demands. And I endure it. Because I hate conflict. Because Thibault tells me, Élodie, make an effort, shes alone, were all she has.
I waited. But patience has its edge.
Juliette works as an accountant for a private company. She finishes work before me and comes straight to our place. I get homeshes already settled on the couch, the TV on, the cat tucked under the bed. My son glued to his phone. She behaves as if its her home. Dinner is waiting for her. Or I have to wait for her to free the bathroom. She eats with us, then drags on for hours recounting her adventures with tax authorities, which nobody hears. Then she leaves. Occasionallyshe stays overnight because she is afraid of thunderstorms or the heating at her place isnt working right.
When we planned a getaway, Juliette came along. It didnt matter that I dreamed of a romantic weekend. It didnt matter that Thibault had promised me a seaside escape for my birthday. Juliette was there. In our hotel room. Under the same roof. All paid by Thibault. Yet she earns a good salary, saves for tough days, as she says. Apparently, the tough day is me.
Thibaults mother sees me as ungrateful. Juliette isnt a stranger, shes alone and needs us, she says. I understand she has no husband or children. But why should I sacrifice my own comfort?
Once I dared to tell Thibault:
Ive had enough. She crosses every line. Shes everywhere. Its unbearable!
He shrugged:
What can I do? Shes my sister
Recently it hit the breaking point. We went to the theater, just the two of us. I had insisted on that night out. A friend was looking after our son. No sooner had we settled into our seats than the phone rang. Juliette.
Where are you? Why didnt you invite me? Do you want to erase me from your life? she yelled over the line.
Two days later she returned. With her bag, her nightshirt, her favorite series. My weekend is free, Ive decided to spend it with you, she announced.
I stood in the kitchen, hands clenched on the table edge. I held back my scream. I stayed silent. But something snapped inside me.
I dont know how to tell Thibault that I cant take it any longer. That I need a home without a third adult. Without constant advice. Without drama. Without Juliette.
And I fear that if nothing changes, Ill end up leavingto find my breath again. Because even love cant survive when another life intrudes between you and your husband. Too noisy. Too invasive. Too foreign.
Today Ive realized one thing: you cant build happiness on silence. You must set boundaries, even with family. No one should live imprisoned by forced generosity.