Well, It’s Just a Small Step for You, You Live Right Next Door!

Emily, where are you? Ive got to get out of here, come right now!

The message from Megan flickered on Olivias phone at half past nine. She set down her halffinished tea, rubbed her eyes. Third time this week. Third time right now. Third time immediately.

I cant, Im working, she typed back, turning back to the laptop.

A minute later the phone buzzed again.

What work? Youre freelancing! Just shut the laptop and come over. Tom and Lily are alone, I need a hand.

Olivia smirked. Megan and Daniel had been holed up at home for a year and a half. He pretended to be hunting a proper job, she claimed she was looking after the kids. In reality he spent whole days scrolling forums, while his sister chattered endlessly with friends and bingewatched series. If it hadnt been for the inheritance Daniel swore hed received, theyd be scraping for crumbs.

I have a deadline in three hours. Call Mum.

The reply was instant, as if Megan were hovering over the keyboard.

Mums busy! Olivia, seriously, whats the problem? You live next door!

Cant, Olivia repeated. Im tied up.

The line rang. Megan abandoned pleasantries and launched into fullblown pleading.

Olivia, what nonsense is this? Im asking you for help like a proper sister!

And Im telling you plainly: Ive got work.

What work? You sit at a computer all day, youre the great hero!

Olivia shut her eyes. The same argument, over and over.

Emma, my client is waiting for the project. If I dont deliver, I wont get paid. No payment means I cant cover the flat. Clear?

My God, its just a slipup! Were family, Olivia. Family! Do you even understand what that means?

I get it. I just cant now.

So you dont want to, Megans voice iced over. Just like that, you wont help your own sister, your own nieces and nephews! How selfish can you be, Olivia?

Emma, I

No, listen to me! Whenever I need you, you have some excuse, some urgent task. Were family, and you refuse to help!

Olivia almost laughed. In the past month shed spent at least ten days at Emmas house: feeding the kids, tucking them in, reading stories, picking up scattered toys. Every time Emma vanished for a couple of hours, those hours stretched into a full day.

Emma, I really have to work.

Excuses! Nothing but excuses! You invent imaginary tasks just to dodge family!

Olivia hit mute. Her fingers trembled with frustration. She inhaled deeply, took a sip of cooling tea, and dove back into the project.

An hour later the phone buzzed again three missed calls from Emma, two texts, a fourminute voice note. Olivia ignored it. She knew what would follow: accusations, guilttripping, pressure to feel sorry for herself.

By evening the tally had risen to twelve messages, all variations on Were family, why wont you help? Olivia read them with increasing disbelief. Emma and Daniel, two grown adults, were demanding that the working sister drop everything and become their nanny.

The next day the pattern repeated. And the day after. And again. Emma called three or four times, sent long texts branding Olivia an egoist, heartless, someone who has forgotten what family means. Daniel stayed silent, a looming presence in the background.

Olivia stopped answering the calls. She let the messages go unanswered and returned to her work. She knew that once she gave in once, the cycle would never end.

She had her own life, her own plans, her own dreams, and she wasnt about to sacrifice them on someone elses whims.

On Saturday her mother, Margaret Harper, phoned.

Olivia, whats happening? Margarets voice was sharp, condemning.

Nothing, Mum. Im working.

Emma says youre refusing to look after the children.

Emma says a lot of things. Im not refusing to help. Im refusing to drop my job every time she decides to wander off.

Olivia, shes your sister. The older one. The younger should always help the elder; thats how its always been.

Mum, Emmas thirty, shes married. Theyre both at home all day. Why should I be the one to babysit?

Because youre family! What kind of selfishness is that? In our day no one turned their back on kin!

Olivia slumped back in her chair. At twentyeight shed never learned to argue with her mother. Margaret had always taken Emmas side, from childhood onward. The elder daughter, the shining star; the younger, the sidekick.

Im not going to discuss this.

There! See? You wont even talk to me! Youve grown up, found a job, and now you think you can ignore family?

Im just living my life.

Your life IS family! Remember that, Olivia!

She remembered, but the lesson she took was different.

The next two weeks turned into a relentless nightmare. Emma called, texted, sent photos of Lily with captions like Look how much she misses you. Margaret chimed in every other day, repeating the same pleas about duty and honour.

It could not go on forever. Olivia saw two options: break down and become a freerange nanny, or change everything completely.

A job offer in Bristol arrived like a lifeline: a solid £70,000 salary, an exciting project, clear career progression, andmost importantlyeight hundred miles between her and the family.

Olivia accepted that very day.

She packed in a hurry, found a new tenant for her flat, bought a train ticket, and said nothing to anyone. She knew that if she spoke, the drama would explode, someone would weep, someone would shout, and shed be pulled back into the same old trap.

No more. Enough.

She left on a Wednesday morning, the early train humming out of London. Before boarding she sent a quick text to Mum and Emma: she was moving. She switched her phone off at the station, only turning it on a day later after shed settled into her new flat.

Fortythree missed calls, eighteen texts, five voice notes awaited her. The first she played was Margarets frantic voicemail:

Olivia! What have you done? How could you leave without telling anyone? This is betrayal! Come back this instant!

The second was Emma, sobbing, alternating between sniffles and accusations: How could you youve abandoned us the kids keep asking where Aunt Olivia is you hate us

Olivia listened to the last word, then calmly deleted every message and called her mother back.

Mum, Im fine. Ive got a new job, Ive moved.

Come back! Come back now! The family needs you!

No, Mum. Im staying here.

Olivia, you dont understand! Emma needs help! The kids

Emma needs to start looking after her own children, or hire a proper nanny, or get Dave off his computer. Im not obliged to be on call forever, Mum.

She hung up, not hearing the ensuing screams.

An hour later Emma called again.

Olivia, how could you? Were sisters! You should be here!

I owe you nothing, Emma. Youre an adult. Sort your own life out.

But the kids

Theyre yours. You and Dave. Raise them yourselves.

You know how hard it is for me!

I know, which is why I left.

Weeks slipped by as Olivia settled into the new rhythm: a bustling Bristol office, supportive colleagues, evenings in a quiet flat. The relentless ringing stopped, the guiltladen messages faded.

Two months later she met Max Turner at a company party. He was witty, intelligent, utterly normalno drama, no manipulation, no you owe me.

One afternoon she caught herself smiling for no reason, genuinely. She woke up hoping for a fresh day instead of dreading a flood of sisterly scolds.

Six months on, she sat on her balcony with a mug of tea, watching the city lights. A stray tabby, rescued from the buildings stairwell a month earlier, curled up at her feet. In the kitchen, Max clanged pans, preparing breakfast.

Only the eight hundred miles between her and the Harper house had given her the space to breathe. The distance proved the best antidote to entitlement and guilt. She had made the right choice by leaving.

And at last, Olivia was truly happy.