When I was seven years old, my mom and dad decided to expand our family, and my sister Emily was born.
Of course, it was very tough for me back then because I had just started first grade and desperately craved my parents’ attention. But I often had to spend time alone since Mom was constantly busy with Emily. She also asked me to help take care of the baby, and I had no choice but to comply.
As Emily grew older, Mom needed to return to work. Our family was desperately short of money; life in the 90s was far from easy.
On our table, there was often pizza that Mom made. But all she could put on it was eggs and green onions. We were grateful even for that, and the dish seemed delicious to us. Emily was a sickly child, and I always felt sorry for her. I often gave her a piece of my pizza, going to bed hungry myself. My parents didn’t know about this; I never told them.
A few years later, I went to study in a nearby town, while my sister stayed with our parents. She needed to attend school. Like many others, I got an education, got married, and had a child.
When Emily finished school, she decided to enroll in the same technical college where I had studied. She didn’t want to live in a dormitory, so my husband and I took her in (we had an apartment in that town). Emily turned out to be a spoiled girl, and I had to put up with all her whims. Either my homemade vegetable soup wasn’t good enough for her, or I hadn’t washed her jeans properly. In her place, I would have been grateful to live with everything provided, as she did.
One day, Emily decided to bring her latest boyfriend to our apartment. I didn’t mind, but my husband was very upset and kicked her boyfriend out.
I hadn’t expected that this incident would turn my sister and me into bitter enemies, but my husband didn’t want our home to become some kind of “den,” as he explained to me. Emily went around telling all the neighbors wild stories about our family, and she tried to humiliate our child behind our backs. She had crossed every line!
“I gave you my last piece of food when we were kids, how could you do this, Emily?” — I tried to reason with my sister, but it was useless. She didn’t listen to me.
“Lucy, your little sister needs to find another place to live,” — my husband said to me one day. We had to do something because our relationship was starting to fall apart.
I didn’t want to kick my sister out, but I also didn’t want to fight with my husband, especially since we were raising a child who deserved to grow up in a loving environment. But I made up my mind. I packed Emily’s things into a suitcase while she was at college.
“You’re kicking me out?” — Emily exclaimed in shock when she saw her packed bags. “But we’re sisters, how could you?” — she kept whining.
“Emily, my husband and I can’t tolerate your behavior anymore, so you’ll have to find another place to live,” — I stated firmly.
It’s sad to recall how Emily left. I tried not to look out the window to watch my little sister go; I felt sorry for her, but I couldn’t go against my husband. I loved him.
My relationship with Emily has never recovered. She’s still mad at me, and we haven’t spoken since. My parents told me that she’s now married and expecting a child. Maybe I’ll find a reason to visit her in the hospital when she gives birth. After all, we should reconcile. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me…
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