“I refuse to be a maid for strangers, no matter their name.”
“Im nobodys housekeeper, not even for family.”
That evening, after a gruelling shift at the pharmacy, I dragged myself into the lift, dreaming of nothing but a hot shower, comfy pyjamas, and a quiet cuppa. But before I could even change, my husband, James, called out in that breezy, utterly unbothered tone of his:
“Get ready, Emmaweve got guests tonight! My sister, Poppy, is staying over for a few days!”
A hollow pit opened in my stomach. This wasnt a request or a discussionjust a casual announcement that my time no longer belonged to me. I was stunned. *Which* Poppy? Why had nobody mentioned this? Ah yes, his younger sister, whom Id never met or even texted. All I knew were a few vague anecdotesa countryside girl from near York, still in sixth form, apparently sensible and resourceful, as farm kids tend to be. But hearing *about* someone is one thing; having them turn up unannounced in your flat is another.
James, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, was already chatting with her in the kitchen when I walked in. Theyd cracked open the biscuits and were sipping tea, Poppy looking perfectly at home, like shed lived there for years. After dinner, she began exploring the flat with barely disguised curiositywandering into every room like it was a museum exhibit, lingering especially in *our* bedroom, which shed clearly taken a shine to. She even staged a little photo shoot, rummaged through my skincare, and tried on a few of my necklaces. I stood frozen.
“Poppy, excuse me, but this is my personal space. You walked in without asking and touched my things. I dont appreciate that,” I said, calm but firm.
She ducked her head, playing the wounded innocent:
“I didnt think youd mind I just wanted to see how you lived.”
I didnt reply. I went to take my shower. By bedtime, I discovered theyd polished off *all* the tea bagsnot a single one left. No tea, no peace, and worst of all, no common sense. Just as I was drifting off, James added cheerfully:
“Maybe think about what we could do with Poppy this weekend? Shell be bored otherwise!”
I swallowed a sigh. Why should I rearrange my life for a girl Id just met? Id planned a day out shopping, lunch, and a walk with my best mate, 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 contemplating breakfast, Poppy was already dolled up in a bedazzled denim jacket, phone in hand, waiting by the door.
“So, are we off? I fancied hitting the shopping centre, maybe grabbing a bite after?”
I looked at her and replied evenly:
“Listen, Poppy, youve got a phone with GPS. Heres a spare keygo *wherever* you like. But please, dont drag me into it.”
“*What?!*” She gaped. “I thought you and James would come. Ive no cashMum didnt give me any, so I was counting on you”
“We can stroll without spending. And if youre peckish, you know where the fridge is.”
Silence. She flopped onto the kitchen stool, sulking. As for me? I grabbed my bag and headed to the shopping centre. Because I refused to feel like a stranger in my own home.
By evening, the entire family had descended. Too late, I realised it was an ambush: Why had I upset poor Poppy? Why wouldnt I give her money? Why was I so *selfish*? No one let me get a word in. They were all shouting. Poppy, in the next room, was milking her martyr act, the tragic victim of my supposed cruelty.
I let them finish, then said:
“Im not a servant. I owe nobody anything. Poppys nothing to me. *I* didnt invite her. My wages barely cover *my* life. If youre so fussed about your niece, pool your family funds to bankroll her holiday.”
James stayed quiet. Only late that night, after everyone had left, did he mutter:
“Youre right I just didnt want a row with them.”
End of story. Im not selfish. Im just a woman who expects respect. And if anyone thinks “family” means free labour and zero boundaries, theyd better look in the mirror and ask why theyre so comfortable invading someone elses life uninvited.
