**Diary Entry**
I never thought it would come to this, but here we are.
“Emily, stop standing there like a statue! Help me with the shopping!” I shouted from the hallway, peeling off my rain-soaked jacket.
James reluctantly tore himself away from the football match on the telly and shuffled toward me. The rain hammered against the windows, and the damp air had left the flat chilly.
“Did you go to the farmer’s market again? It’s so expensive there,” he muttered, peering into the overstuffed bags.
“Where else am I supposed to get decent tomatoes? The supermarket ones taste like cardboard. Sophie and the kids are coming tomorrowI wanted to make her favourite beef stew.”
I untied the bags on the kitchen counter while James watched in silence. I always went all out when his younger sister visitedlike it was some grand occasion. The best ingredients, the good china, everything spotless.
“I dont get why you make such a fuss,” he grumbled. “Sophies not picky.”
“Picky or not, guests should be treated properly. Especially family.”
He didnt approve, but I did it anyway. Sophiealways “Sophie Elizabeth” in my head, never just “Sophie”wasnt just his sister. She was everything I wasnt. Beautiful, successful, two well-behaved kids, a husband with a stable job. She lived in Manchester, worked in finance, dressed impeccably. Next to her, I always felt like a plain Jane.
The doorbell cut through my thoughts.
“Thats early,” James frowned, checking his watch. “They said theyd come after lunch.”
But it wasnt Sophiejust Mrs. Whitmore from next door, her eyes red-rimmed.
“Emily, love, youve got to help me. My cat, Whiskershes gone missing! Three days now, and not a trace. Have you seen him?”
I invited her in and put the kettle on. Mrs. Whitmore was alonethat cat was all the family she had.
“Havent seen him, but maybe hes locked in somewhere? Did you check the cellar?”
“Ive looked everywhere! Even asked the caretakersnothing. Oh, what am I going to do without him?”
James rolled his eyes and turned back to the telly. He couldnt stand neighbours dramas or Mrs. Whitmores tears. I poured the tea and sat with her.
“Dont worry too much. Cats are cleverhell turn up. Maybe found himself a lady friend.”
“Hes neutered!” she sniffled. “What lady friend?”
We sat there over an hour. I listened, soothed, gave advice. James kept glancing pointedly at the clock, but I ignored him.
When she finally left, he snapped.
“Weve got guests coming, and youre wasting time on that madwoman!”
“James, shes just upset! If I lost my pet, Id be heartbroken too.”
“A *pet*! And Sophies bringing the kidsyou havent even finished prepping!”
I clenched my jaw. There it was. *Sophie.* Like life didnt matter unless she was in it.
That evening, they arrived. Sophie, flawless as evertailored blazer, sleek hair, expensive heels. The kidsOliver, ten, and little Charlotte, eightimmediately latched onto Uncle James.
“Uncle James! You promised to show us that new game!” Charlotte babbled.
“Yeah, yeah! Just get changed first.”
With Sophie, he transformedlaughing, attentive, *alive*. Every time, I watched it happen. Why couldnt he be like that with me?
“How was the journey? Not too tired?” I hovered.
“Fine, thanks. Though the rain slowed us down,” Sophie said politely.
Wed never been close. I tried, but she kept me at arms lengthlike I was just her brothers wife, an obligation.
Dinner was stilted. The kids chattered about school, Sophie about work, James hanging on her every word. I just refilled tea, passed dishes.
“Remember, James, how Mum used to chase us with the spoon if we didnt finish this stew?” Sophie laughed.
“Bloody hell, yeah! You hid under the tableI bolted to the garden!”
They reminiscedchildhood, old friends, family stories. I sat there, invisible in my own home.
“Emily, youre quiet,” Sophie said suddenly.
“Just tired.”
“Shes always tired,” James cut in. “Work stress, then comes home miserable.”
I flinched. How could he say that?
“Everyones stressed these days,” Sophie murmured.
Later, the men lounged with the telly, the kids on their tablets, Sophie and I in the kitchen.
“Need help?” she offered, half-hearted.
“Ive got it.”
I washed up, listening to their laughter in the next room.
“Emily,” she said abruptly, “I wanted to talk.”
“Oh?”
“James mentioned youve been thinking about kids.”
I froze. Hed *discussed* that with her?
“Well, weve been married seven years,” I said carefully.
“I worry about him. Kids are a huge responsibility. And *expensive*.”
“Well manage.”
“Will you?” She almost smirked. “No offence, but look at the facts. Jamess salary isnt great, yours isnt either. Rented flat, no car. School fees, clothes, university”
I set the plate down. “Why is this your business?”
“Because if things go wrong, *Ill* have to help. James always relies on me.”
“Nobodys asking you to.”
“Youre not, but Id have to. Hes my only brother.”
My hands shook. So hed been complaining to her?
“Sophie, this is between me and James.”
“Of course. Just sayingmaybe wait? Get stable first?”
Next door, the kids shrieked with laughter. James was telling some childhood tale.
“Sophie, Im not putting my life on hold over money.”
“Your choice. But think of James. Hes stretched thin as it is.”
“Stretched how? He hasnt told me anything.”
She backtracked. “Oh, just work stress. His boss is a nightmare.”
“Funny. He never mentioned that to *me*.”
“Men dont like worrying their wives. Easier to talk to a sister.”
I nodded, seething. So he had secrets from me but bared his soul to her?
The rest of the evening was tense. I smiled through it, but I was an outsider in my own home.
Later, in bed:
“Nice night,” James yawned.
“Mm.”
“Youve been off. Sophie said you were acting weird.”
“*Weird*? Did you tell her about us trying for a baby?”
He paused. “So what? Shes got two kidsshe knows what shes on about.”
“Knows enough to tell me *not* to have them?”
“Maybe shes right! We can barely afford *us*.”
I sat up. “So you agree with her?”
“Im saying moneys tight.”
“James, Im *thirty*. How much longer should I wait?”
“Dunno. Couple years?”
“Two *years*? And if there are complications later?”
“Sophie had Charlotte at thirty-seven. She was fine.”
There it was again. *Sophie.*
“James, do you *want* kids or not?”
“Yeah, but not yet.”
“When? When your *sister* says so?”
He whipped around. “This isnt about Sophie! Its *my* decision!”
“Yours? After talking to her?”
“Emily, stop twisting it! Shes got nothing to do with this!”
We slept in silence. I lay awake, replaying it all. Did he really let her dictate our lives?
Breakfast was worse.
“Auntie Emily,” Charlotte piped up, “why dont you have kids?”
Silence. James choked on his tea.
“Charlotte!” Sophie hissed.
“But Mummy said Auntie Emily wants a baby, and Uncle James is scared they cant afford it!”
Sophie flushed.
“Charlotte, go watch cartoons.”
“No! Im eating!”
“Oliver, take her,” James muttered.
When they left, the air turned to ice.
“Sophie,” I said quietly, “how *could* you?”
“I never”
“Charlotte just *quoted* you!”
James stared at his plate.
“Sorry,” Sophie mumbled. “Didnt think theyd remember.”
“Its not *remembering*its you discussing *our* private life!”
“Emily, enough,” James cut in. “She apologised.”
“And last nights lecture on our finances? Was that just *helping* too?”
“I meant well,”
