“I won’t be a servant to strangers, no matter their name.”
“I’m not here to be anyone’s maid, not even with their fancy surname.”
That evening, after an exhausting shift at the pharmacy, I dragged myself into the lift, dreaming only of a hot bath, comfy pyjamas, and a quiet cup of tea. But before I could even change, my husband, Thomas, called out. His voice, calm and utterly unbothered, announced:
“Get ready, Emily, weve got guests tonight. My sister, Sophie, is staying for a few days!”
A hollow pit opened in my stomach. It wasnt a request or a discussionjust a statement, as if my time wasnt my own. I was stunned. Which Sophie? Why had no one mentioned this? Ah yes, his younger sister, whom Id never met or even exchanged a text with. All I knew were a few scraps of gossipa countryside girl from near Manchester, still in sixth form, apparently sweet and practical, the way farm girls are. But hearing about someone is one thing; having them turn up unannounced in your home is another.
Thomas, acting as if nothing were amiss, was already chatting with her in the kitchen when I arrived. They were sipping tea, and Sophie looked perfectly at ease, as if she owned the place. After dinner, she began exploring the flat with poorly hidden curiositypeering into every room like a museum visitor, lingering especially in our bedroom, which she clearly fancied. She even snapped selfies, rummaged through my skincare, and tried on some of my jewellery. I stood frozen.
“Sophie, excuse me, but this is my private space. You walked in without asking and touched my things. I dont appreciate that,” I said, calm but firm.
She ducked her head, playing innocent:
“I didnt know itd bother you I just wanted to see how you lived.”
I didnt reply and went to shower. At bedtime, I found not a single teabag lefttheyd drunk them all. No tea, no peace, and worst of all, no consideration. Before turning in, Thomas added:
“Maybe think about what we could do with Sophie this weekend. Shell be bored on her own!”
I bit back a sigh. Why should I rearrange my plans for a girl Id just met? Id booked a day outshopping, lunch, and a walk with my best friend, whom I hadnt seen in nearly a year. And now? Cancel everything for a teenager even her own mother couldnt be bothered to chaperone?
The next morning, while I was still half-asleep, Sophie was already made up, wearing a bedazzled jean jacket, phone in hand by the door.
“So, are we going? I wanted to hit the shopping centre, maybe grab a bite after?”
I looked at her and replied evenly:
“Listen, Sophie, youve got a phone with GPS. Heres a spare keygo wherever you like. But please, dont disrupt my day.”
“What?!” She looked stunned. “I thought you and Thomas would come. Ive no moneyMum didnt give me any, I was counting on you…”
“You can wander without spending. And if youre hungry, you know where the fridge is.”
Silence. She slouched at the kitchen table, sulking. I grabbed my things and left for the shops. Simply because I refused to feel like a stranger in my own home.
By evening, the whole family had descended. Too late, I realised it was an ambush: why had I upset poor Sophie? Why wouldnt I give her money? Why was I so selfish? No one let me speak. They all shouted. Sophie, in the other room, played the martyr, the victim of my cruelty.
I let them finish, then said:
“Im not a servant. I owe no one anything. Sophie means nothing to me. I didnt invite her. My wages barely cover my own life. If you care so much, sort her stay out among yourselves.”
Thomas stayed quiet. Only late that night, once everyone had gone, did he murmur:
“Youre right I didnt want to fight with them.”
The lesson? Respect isnt givenits earned. And family ties dont grant anyone the right to trample your boundaries. Sometimes, the kindest thing you can do is say no.
