My husband chose his sister. Now I have nothing left.
My name is Eleanor, I’m thirty-two, and for three years I’ve been married to a man who turned out to be nothing like the person I thought he was. At first, I believed our marriage was a partnership between two adults with shared goals, dreams, and plans. But the truth? I was always second. The most important woman in my husband’s life was never me. It was his younger sister—Chloe.
From the first months of our marriage, I noticed something strange. We lived in my flat—inherited from my parents after they died in a car crash. A modest two-bedroom, but cosy. No mortgage, no rent, the perfect start. I worked as an accountant for a private firm, my husband in logistics. Our earnings were decent, enough to live comfortably—if not for one problem: Chloe. She turned twenty this year, studying remotely, living alone, but living like royalty.
Every time we faced a decision—”Should we get a new washing machine?” or “Can we finally renovate the bathroom?”—the answer was always, “Money’s tight this month.” Why? Chloe. Either she needed to “get away” and go to Brighton, or “celebrate passing her exams” with a new iPhone, or “cheer herself up” after a breakup with a ridiculously expensive laptop.
And me? I was the forgotten wife, receiving as a birthday gift… a credit card statement. No flowers, no words, no respect.
I tried talking to my husband. Gently, at first.
“We’re supposed to be a team, we share expenses, but you never consult me… Why?”
He sighed, shrugging guiltily.
“Ellie, you have to understand… She’s got no one else. Our parents are gone, she’s still just a kid, really. I’m all she has.”
Listening to him, I thought—then what am I? A lodger? The woman who cooks his dinners, washes his shirts, and pays half the bills?
He promised to “cut back.” For a few months, things were quiet—our savings grew, we finally started renovations, took out a modest car loan, even went on a little seaside holiday. I scrimped where I could—home-cooked meals, no salon visits, no new coat. All for our future.
Then came the final blow. Chloe’s birthday. We’d just agreed we needed to pay a little extra on the loan. I’d already told him my birthday gift could just be a quiet dinner—that was enough. But the next morning, I found the receipt. A brand-new gaming PC. For who? For “little” Chloe. Because turning twenty was a milestone, apparently.
I stared at the receipt. The tears came on their own.
“She’s got no one else,” he started again, as if repeating it would make it true.
“Then why should she ever marry?” I snapped. “She’s already got you—father, husband, walking ATM rolled into one.”
He looked at me sharply, irritation flashing in his eyes. Then he packed his things and left. Without another word. Went straight to her. To his “poor” little sister who just couldn’t survive without expensive gifts.
At first, I didn’t believe it. Thought he’d cool off, come back. But he didn’t. And now I’m alone. Looking back, though, I realise—it’s better this way. If I’d gotten pregnant, if I’d had his child, I would’ve spent my life fighting for scraps of his attention, competing with a grown woman he’d trained to rely on his money.
Now Chloe’s happy. No one stands between her and her “darling brother” anymore. And me? I’m free. It hurts, it stings, it’s unbearable some days. But I’m free. And in the end, that’s the only real gift he ever gave me.