Oh, what a nuisance!” I nearly shouted at my sister-in-law, but I held my tongue. And here she is again, suitcase in tow for another weekend visit…

“Oh, how fed up I am!” I almost shouted at my sisterinlaw, but I held back. And now she’s back again, suitcase in hand for the weekend
“You really wear me out!” I was about to scream at my husband’s sister. I clenched my teeth. And she, in response, arrived once more with her weekend luggage
My name is Élodie, I’m thirtynine. I’ve been married to Thibault for twelve years. We have a fairly solid family, our son is growing, everything seems fine. Yet there’s one “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 across the street and in fact, she also lives with us. I’m not exaggerating. She shows up in our flat like a shadowquiet, persistent, every single day. Sometimes I swear Juliette has an endless supply of keys to our building.
At first I tried to be polite, even nice. After all, she’s my husband’s sister, family. I told myself she’d drop by, chat, have a cup of tea and 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 boundaries. She comments on everything: my cooking, our son’s upbringing, the way I dress. Sometimes she says I’m too quiet, sometimes I laugh too loudly, my cake is too dry, the apartment is “messy.” Most of all, she doesn’t askshe demands. And I endure it because I hate conflict. Because Thibault tells me, “Élodie, make an effort; she’s alone, we’re all she has.”
I have waited. But patience has limits.
Juliette works as an accountant for a private firm. She finishes work before me and comes straight to our place. I get homeshe’s already settled on the couch, the TV on, the cat tucked under the bed, our son glued to his phone, and she acts as if she’s at home. Dinner is waiting for her. Or I have to wait for her to vacate the bathroom. She eats with us, then spends hours recounting her “adventures” with the tax office, which no one listens to. Then she leaves. Occasionallyshe stays the night because she “fears thunderstorms” or “the heating at her place doesn’t work well.”
When we planned a getaway, Juliette joined us. It didn’t matter that I dreamed of a romantic weekend. It didn’t matter that Thibault had promised me a seaside escape for my birthday. Juliette was there, in our hotel room, under the same roof. Everything paid for by Thibault. Yet she earns a good salary, saves money, “for hard days,” as she says. Apparently, the hard day is supposed to be me.
Thibault’s mother sees me as ungrateful. “Juliette isn’t a stranger; she’s alone and needs us,” she says. I understand she has no husband or children. But why should I sacrifice my own comfort?
One day I dared to tell Thibault:
I’ve had enough. She crosses every line. She’s everywhere. It’s unbearable!
He raised his shoulders:
What can I do? She’s my sister
Recently it reached a breaking point. We went to the theatre, 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 didn’t you invite me? Do you want to erase me from your life? she shouted over the phone.
Two days later she returned, suitcase in hand, nightgown on, her favorite series bookmarked. “My weekend is free; I’ve decided to spend it with you,” she announced.
I was standing in the kitchen, hands clenched on the table edge. I swallowed my scream. I stayed silent. But something inside me snapped.
I don’t know how to tell Thibault that I can’t take it any longer. That I need a home without a third adult. Without constant advice. Without drama. Without Juliette.
And I’m afraid that if nothing changes, I’ll have to leaveto find my breath again. Because even love can’t survive when another life intrudes between you and your husband. Too noisy. Too invasive. Too foreign.
Today I’ve realized one thing: you can’t build happiness on silence. Boundaries must be set, even with family. No one should live imprisoned by forced generosity.