“Oh, what a right old bother!” I nearly shouted at my sister-in-law, but I managed to hold my tongue. And here she comes again with her suitcase for another weekend…

Oh, what a nightmare! I almost shouted at my sisterinlaw, but I held back. And now shes back again, suitcase in hand, ready for the weekend
Youre driving me mad! I nearly yelled at my husbands sister. I clenched my teeth. And she, in reply, showed up once more with her weekend luggage
My name is Élodie, Im thirtynine, and 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. Shes never married, has no children, lives alone in the house opposite us and in fact, she also lives with us. Im not exaggerating. She appears 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 kind. After all, shes my husbands sister, family. I told myself she would drop by, chat, have a cup of 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 boundaries. She comments on everything: my cooking, our sons upbringing, the way I dress. Youre too quiet, she says, or you laugh too loudly, your cake is too dry, or that the apartment is messy. She doesnt ask; 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 limits.
Juliette works as an accountant for a private firm. She finishes work before me and comes straight to our place. I get homeshes already settled on the couch, the TV on, the cat hidden under the bed, my son glued to his phone, and she behaves as if she owns the place. Dinner is waiting for her, or I have to wait for her to free the bathroom. She eats with us, then spends hours recounting her tax adventures, which nobody hears. Then she leaves. Occasionally she stays the night because she fears thunderstorms or the heater at her place doesnt work well.
When we planned a getaway, Juliette joined us. It didnt matter that I dreamed of a romantic weekend, or that Thibault had promised a seaside escape for my birthday. Juliette was there, in the hotel room, under the same roof, everything paid by Thibault. Yet she earns a good salary, saves for hard times, as she puts it. Apparently, the hard time 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?
One day I finally told Thibault:
Ive had enough. She crosses every line. Shes everywhere. Its unbearable!
He shrugged:
What can I do? Shes my sister
It finally broke point recently. 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 didnt you invite me? Are you trying to erase me from your life? she shouted over the line.
Two days later she was back, suitcase in hand, nightgown on, her favorite series queued. My weekend is free, Ive 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. Something inside me snapped.
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 have to leave, to find my breath again. Because even love cant survive when another life intrudes between you and your spousetoo noisy, too invasive, too foreign.
Today Ive realized one thing: happiness cannot be built on silence. Boundaries must be set, even with family. No one should live imprisoned by forced generosity.