From the very beginning, I realized there would be no warm welcome for me in my husband’s family. The moment James and I got married, his sister Emily made it clear I didn’t belong. I tried to build bridges, to be helpful, to smooth things over—all in vain. It was like talking to a brick wall.
I work at a medical practice—handling registrations and organising referrals, appointments, and tests. More than once, I’ve helped my in-laws: skipping queues, arranging consultations, making sure they didn’t have to pay. Some thanked me, others said nothing, but I didn’t mind—I thought that’s what family does.
Emily, however, took full advantage. She knew I had a car and was always asking for lifts—not for errands, but for shopping, salons, social visits—even on weekends. A call at nine on a Saturday: *”Can you take me across town? It’s urgent.”* Never once did she consider whether I might be sleeping or have plans. She had a husband with his own car, yet somehow, I became her personal chauffeur.
She also dragged James into her demands. One call, and he’d drop everything. I asked him to set boundaries, but he’d just say, *”You wouldn’t understand—you don’t have siblings.”* As if blood excused everything.
Family gatherings were another ordeal. They exchanged token gifts—I gave to all, but received nothing in return. As if I were invisible, as if my time, petrol, and effort meant nothing.
Two years ago, Emily needed surgery. I pulled strings, called in favours from colleagues, ensured she didn’t pay a penny. I didn’t do it for thanks—but when someone can’t even say *”thank you,”* it stings. Especially knowing her own mother couldn’t have arranged half of what I did.
Then I ended up in hospital myself—an emergency operation. And who from James’s family checked on me? No one. Not a soul. Except Emily. Not with concern, though—she needed a copy of some document. Knew I was in surgery, yet still called. Waiting or asking someone else never crossed her mind. That’s their idea of *”family.”*
After recovering, we attended his uncle’s birthday. Everyone greeted me—except Emily. The moment she saw me, she walked out. A year of silence over a piece of paper, as if I were contagious.
I’m done being convenient. Done being a cheap resource for people who only want what I can do for them. I may not have my own family, but I won’t let them wipe their feet on me anymore. Enough. Some bonds aren’t worth keeping.
