Why Won’t You Let Us Have the Flat? I’m About to Have a Baby Soon, and You Still Live There Alone

Half my childhood was spent alongside my twin sister in childrens homes, until our auntmy mothers sisterturned eighteen and took us both in. She and, later, her husband became as true parents to us as any could be. I loved them dearly and have always been grateful for everything they did for us.
When the day of our eighteenth birthday arrived, our guardians brought us to a three-bedroom flat in the heart of London, a place that had once belonged to our parents. All those years, it had been let out to tenants, and now, they offered us a suggestion: sell the flat, divide the money, and each find a place to make our own start in the world. We liked the idea well enough. It was a fine property, fetched a handsome sum, and I found myself with enough to buy a pleasant two-bedroom flattaking out a mortgage to make up the difference, which I managed to pay off within a year. Then began the months of renovationspainting, decorating, and slowly filling the rooms with proper furniture.
Our guardians were pleased to see me settle into my new home, though their hearts remained troubled over my sister. No end of gentle advice passed her wayurging her to think of the future, to put down roots. She seemed in no rush. Much of her share vanished on expensive gadgets, nights out at restaurants, and long trips abroad.
Before long, my aunts patience wore thin. With more firmness than Id ever heard in her voice, she told my sister shed have to move out if she didnt buy herself a place before the rest of her money was squandered. When reality finally caught up, my sister found she hadnt enough left to buy even a small flat, and so she began renting.
During this time shed fallen in with a young man, and they set up house together, careful with their pennies for once, and I felt glad she was finally getting her life in order. As for me, work had gone wellId earned a promotion, had the means to help our guardians, managed a proper summer holiday, and even met a charming fellow of my own, with plans to move in together.
Sometime after our relationship started, we all gathered at my flat for a meal. Amid the chatter, my sister announced the happy newsshe was expecting. Afterwards, she launched into a lengthy speech about how difficult renting would be, especially these days with London rents higher than ones wages. At first, I didnt quite see her meaning, until she turned to me and said:
“Give me your flat. Ill have the baby soon, and you live alone anyway. It wont make much difference to you whether you stay with Auntieshe has a spare room, after all.”
I told her no. She burst into tears, pulled her husband with her and left without another word.
The calls came afterwardshopes, perhaps, that Id change my mind. But I felt Id earned every bit of what I had. Id worked hard for my home, saved for every scrap of furniture, spent months sanding floorboards and painting walls. How could I simply give it away?
It wasnt my fault shed never spared a thought for tomorrow.