“Oh, what a nightmare!” I almost shouted at my sisterinlaw, but I held back. And now she’s back again with her weekend suitcase
“I’m fed up!” I nearly yelled at my husband’s sister. I clenched my teeth. And she, in response, showed up again with her weekend bag
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 is a but that has poisoned 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 and in fact, she also lives with us. I’m not exaggerating. She appears in our flat like a shadowsilent, persistent, every day. Sometimes I think 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 would drop by, chat, have a tea and leave. But she came every night. 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, our son’s upbringing, the way I dress. Either I’m too quiet, or I laugh too loudly, my cake is too dry, the flat messy. Most of all, she doesn’t ask, she demands. And I endure it. Because I hate conflict. Because Thibault says: Élodie, make an effort, she’s alone, we’re all she has.
I waited. But patience has its limits.
Juliette works as an accountant for a private company. She finishes work before me and goes straight to our place. I come homeshe’s already planted on the couch, the TV on, the cat hidden under the bed. My son glued to his phone. And she, as if she owned the place. Dinner is waiting for her. Or I have to wait for her to free the bathroom. She eats with us, then talks for hours about her adventures with the tax office, no one listening. Then she leaves. Occasionallyshe stays overnight because she fears thunderstorms or the heating at her place doesnt work well.
When we planned a getaway, Juliette came along. No matter that I dreamed of a romantic weekend. No matter that Thibault 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 hard days, as she says. Apparently, she thinks the hard day is me.
Thibault’s mother sees me as ungrateful. Juliette isnt 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?
Once I dared to tell Thibault:
I’ve had enough. She crosses every boundary. She’s everywhere. It’s unbearable!
He shrugged:
What can I do? She’s my sister
Recently it reached a breaking point. We went to the theater, just the two of us. I had insisted on that night out. A friend was watching our son. No sooner had we settled into our seats the phone rang. Juliette.
Where are you? Why didn’t you invite me? Do you want to erase me from your life? she yelled over the phone.
Two days later she returned. With her bag. Her nightgown. Her favorite series. 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 held back my scream. I stayed silent. But something snapped inside me.
I don’t know how to tell Thibault that I can’t take it anymore. That I need a home with just the two of us. No extra adult. No constant advice. No drama. No Juliette.
And I fear that if nothing changes, I’ll have to leave. To 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 realized one thing: you can’t build happiness on silence. You must set limits, even with family. No one should live imprisoned by forced generosity.
Oh, what a hassle!” I nearly shouted at my sister-in-law, but I held my tongue. And here she is again, suitcase in hand, ready for another weekend stay…
