My Husband’s Sister Arrived Expecting Everything to Be Ready, but This Time She Was Met with an Empty Table

The Husbands Sister Came for a Free Feed But This Time, the Table Was Bare

Are they coming again this Saturday? We agreed this weekend was just for us! I wanted a quiet trip to the countryside. Im exhausted from those quarterly reports!

The voice rang out, sharp and tired, bouncing off the tiles of the poky kitchen. Emily, up to her elbows in soapy water, shot her husband a look over her shoulder. Tom sat at the table, guilt written all over his face as he stirred his cup of lukewarm tea, fiddling with the edge of the linen tablecloth.

Em, what was I supposed to say? he sighed, doing his best to soothe. Sarah rang up and said she, Dan and Ethan miss us. We havent seen them in ages, and Ethan wants to see his uncle. I couldnt just say no. Theyre counting on it.

Havent seen them in ages? Emily snapped off the tap with such force it squeaked in protest. She dried her hands, turned to face him, arms folded. Tom, they were here a fortnight ago. And before that, over the Bank Holiday, for three days. Every single time, the same thing: they arrive empty-handed, sit down, eat everything Ive spent half my weekend cooking, leave a mountain of washing up, then scarper!

Tom frowned. These conversations always stuck in his craw. Helping family thats what hed always been taught. Open the door, day or night. Never mind about plans, about being tired.

Dont start picking apart what other people eat, he muttered. Shes my sister. Bloods thicker than water. Theyre short on cash at the moment Dans bonus got chopped. Sarah mentioned it. Let them come, well have a chat. Ill go to the shop myself. Ill do the washing up promise.

That promise was wearing thin. Emily had heard it every time. Tom, in fairness, would nip to the shop, but hed return with a loaf of bread, a bottle of water and the cheapest ham he could find and seemed to think that counted as a feast. The real cost, and hours slogging over the stove, landed firmly on Emilys shoulders. Washing up, too: after stuffing himself, Tom generally fell asleep in the front room, leaving Emily alone to battle greasy pans and congealed dishes.

Theyd been married six years now. The flat was hers; her gran had left it to her well before she married, so legally, it was Emilys alone. Tom earned all right, but most went on his car payments and helping his retired parents. Emily was lead pharmacist for a major pharmacy chain, made a good salary she basically bankrolled all the weekly shop, bills, gadgets, and their holiday savings.

Emily was a generous host, never mean. At first, shed laid on feasts for Toms family pies, Sunday roasts, elaborate bakes. But she began to notice that Sarahs visits had devolved into shameless freeloading. Sarah, brash, confident and supremely entitled, treated her brothers home like a free all-inclusive restaurant.

So, late Friday, Emily made her usual dash round Tesco, dragging a trolley the weight of a small car. Steak for the main Sarah loathed poor peoples chicken. Smoked salmon for posh sandwiches, a few types of cheese, fresh veg whose prices made her wince, and Ethans favourite chocolate cake.

Scanning her debit card at the till, she stared in dismay at the receipt: nearly £75. Shed meant to put that aside for new boots her old ones were falling apart. But boots would have to wait till payday.

Hauling the bags home nearly did her in. Tom, as usual, was running late at the garage, so she staggered up three flights herself, glowering, knuckles white.

In the hallway, she let the bags drop and kicked off her shoes with a sigh. From the bedroom, she heard Toms muffled voice apparently back, on the phone. She picked up the bags and, as she passed the half-open bedroom door, slowed.

Tom was on speaker. Sarahs voice boomed from the phone, loud and entitled as ever.

Im telling you, book the holiday now while the early bird discounts on! Sarah was in full flight. Weve been dying to try that all-inclusive in Spain. Dan just got his advance, slapped down the whole deposit. Coughed up a packet almost twelve hundred quid but you only live once!

Blimey, well done, Tom replied, genuinely impressed. But I thought Dans bonus got cut? Werent you having to save?

Sarahs laughter crashed through the speaker.

Oh, Tom, dont be silly. Course were saving living off pasta and sausage, no restaurants, no treats. Got to prioritise. But the weekend? We come to yours! Emily always puts on a banquet. Theres always salmon, theres always roast, all sorts of posh nibbles. I eat so much at yours on Saturday and Sunday I can live on yoghurts till Wednesday. Brilliant for our budget. Just remind her about the salmon Ethan loves it. Anyway, see you tomorrow at one well be starving!

Click. Tom made an amiable grunt and tossed the phone on the bed.

Emily just stood there in the hall, hands numb from heavy bags, but the ache in her heart dwarfed everything. A cold wave of fury swelled inside.

So they were saving? Living on pasta, were they? Twelve hundred quid blown on a package holiday. And Emily had to put off buying boots so she could feed these manipulative moochers on smoked salmon, while they preened about budgeting.

Quietly, she backed away, stalked to the kitchen, and set the shopping down. Flicked on the light. Looked around her spotless, beloved kitchen, at the food shed just paid for. Something inside her snapped. All that good daughter-in-law effort gone in a puff. Icy logic took its place.

Emily didnt shout, didnt storm into the bedroom. She got to work, calm and measured.

She unpacked the bags. The tender steak meant for their lunch went into the freezer, under two bags of sprouts. The fancy cheese, salmon, posh sausage and delicacies all went into an opaque storage tub, stowed on the fridges bottom shelf behind casserole pots. The cake she halved one bit hidden with the treats, the other left covered up.

By the end, the kitchen was immaculate. Nothing on the worktop. Empty sink.

The rest of the evening rolled by as normal. Emily did a basic supper reheated leftover fishcakes and boiled rice. Tom ate, none the wiser, and settled in front of the telly, not mentioning the impending family invasion assuming, evidently, that everything was sorted as usual.

Saturday dawned, blissfully quiet. Emily had a lie-in, luxuriated in the shower, took her time over eggs, cheese and a good strong cuppa. She curled up with a book by the window, while Tom snored away. Usually at this hour, shed be clattering pans, whisking mayonnaise, keeping plates warm. Not today.

By midday, Tom surfaced, yawned into the kitchen and, not picking up a whiff of home cooking, scratched his head.

Em, you not cooking? Sarah and them are due in an hour. Did the oven break?

Nope, Emily said, eyes on her book. Im having a day off. Its my weekend.

Tom seemed to freeze, blinking stupidly. The penny refused to drop.

A day off? What about feeding the guests?

Not sure, Tom. Theres some leftover fishcakes in the fridge. You can always make them some rice. The shops over the road if you need more your wallets in the hall.

He nervously chuckled, thinking it was a wind-up.

Come on, dont sulk about them coming. I said Id do the washing up! Where are those bags you hauled in last night? I saw you struggling, you know.

Groceries for the week. Not for subsidising someones Spanish getaway, Emily said, finally looking up and fixing him with a gaze as cold as British February. I heard your chat with Sarah last night. Every world of it. And you know what? The charity restaurant in this house is now permanently closed.

Colour bloomed across Toms face. He opened his mouth probably to babble some daft excuse but at that moment, the doorbell rang, braying through the flat. Guests, perfectly punctual, just in time for lunch.

Tom darted out, fumbling at the lock. In barrelled the guests: voices blaring, feet thumping, the distinct whiff of a discount perfume flooding the air.

Finally! Nightmare traffic! Sarah shouted. Tommy, love! Where are our slippers? Ethan, dont drag your sleeve down the wall!

Sarah swept into the kitchen in a gaudy tracksuit, ponytail askew. Behind her trundled Dan, bulky and perennially grim-faced, and Ethan, fifteen and surgically attached to his phone.

Sarah shamelessly scanned the room, sniffed the air and scowled.

Em, darling! Why does it smell like…nothing in here? Arent you putting a spread on? Were starving. We even skipped breakfast to save room for your famous steaks!

Emily marked her page, placed the book by the window, and, in no rush, turned to her dear in-laws.

Hello, Sarah. Hello, Dan. We havent eaten and we wont be. Lunch isnt being made.

Sarah blinked her false eyelashes in disbelief, shooting a look at her brother, who hovered in the doorway, mortified.

What do you mean, not being made? Tom said you were expecting us! Its one oclock. My Ethan needs regular meals its important at his age!

If Ethan needs his routine, you probably shouldve fed him at home, or popped into Greggs on the way, Emily said, dry as dust, with the tiniest smirk.

Dan grunted and slumped onto a stool, folding his arms over his belly.

This a joke? Weve schlepped across half of London to stare at an empty table? Come off it, Em, dish up the salads already. Im famished.

The word famished grated, but Emily didnt bat an eyelid. She went to the table, leaned on it and eyeballed Sarah.

There are no salads, Dan. No steak. No salmon. Last night I overheard a very enlightening phone call about how my home is basically just a convenient way for you to scrimp on groceries for your all-inclusive in Spain.

Sarah choked on thin air, her face going from sallow to beetroot in seconds. She flashed Tom a look that could curdle milk.

Tom! Were you on loudspeaker with me while she was there?!

Tom shrank inwardly.

Sarah, I didnt know she was standing in the hall… I thought she was in the kitchen…

Oh, you thought! Sarah spun on Emily, deciding attack was best. And what of it? Yes, were going to Spain! Yes, were being careful! Thats not criminal! Were family! You ought to host us and feed us! You dont have kids, where else does your money go, and weve got a family think of our expenses! Your brother couldve helped out his own flesh and blood! Its not like one steak would bankrupt you! So stingy!

Emily straightened up, her eyes narrowing. Years of pent-up irritation spilled free in clipped, icy syllables.

First of all, Sarah, nobody in this house ought to do anything. You didnt buy this flat and nor did your brother. Its my place. My purse isnt a trust fund for your foreign holidays. Your last few visits have cost me nearly £500. Thats my hard-earned money. Id rather spend it on myself than bankroll people who have a laugh about how clever they are sponging off me behind my back.

You counting every mouthful my kid eats? Sarah tried to muster tears, clutching her chest. Dan, did you hear what she just said? Disgrace!

Dan heaved himself upright, fists clenched.

Listen, love he began menacingly. You want to mind your manners. Were here for Tom, not you.

Dan, enough! Tom spoke up for the first time, stepping forward, blocking his wife. Dont you dare talk to Emily like that, not in her home.

Her home? Sarah sneered. Are you just her lodger? Scared to speak up? Are you a man or not? Tell your wife to pull her finger out and feed your family!

Tom stared at Sarah. For the first time, he saw her without the mask of the hard-up sister. All he saw was entitlement and disrespect, not just to Emily but to him and their marriage. Shame washed over him; shame for letting this happen, for his bargain-bin groceries while Emily lugged heavy bags, shame for his spinelessness.

My wifes not beholden to you, Sarah, he said, voice hard as stone. And shes not waiting on you anymore. Emilys right. You only come here for free grub. Youve never once asked about us, never offered to bring so much as a packet of Hobnobs. Not even a thank you.

Is that it, then?! Sarah clapped both hands to her forehead, theatre-queen. Youve swapped your own sister for this… this penny-pinching pharmacist! Ill never set foot here again! Ill tell Mum shell know what a doormat shes raised!

Tell whoever you like, Emily replied coolly. The doors right there. Maybe stop off at Sainsburys on the way home for some sausage rolls. Save a few quid.

Sarah huffed, clutching Ethan by the arm, nearly knocking his phone from his hand.

Lets go, Dan! They hate us here! Let them choke on their cash! she screeched, and barrelled out into the corridor in a storm of shoes and flapping coat sleeves.

The door slammed so hard the keys rattled on the hook.

A deep, unfamiliar silence settled in the flat. Emily exhaled slowly, feeling the tension melt away. Her hands trembled, but inside, it felt as if shed finally kicked off a pair of tight shoes that had been pinching for years.

Tom hovered uncertainly. He approached her, touching her shoulder.

Em… Im sorry. I was a prat. I really didnt see how bad it was. I thought it was just family… but it was you they were using.

Emily looked at him. There was real regret in his eyes. She knew the family break would sting, but hed made the right choice. Hed chosen her.

As long as you get it now, Tom, she said quietly but firmly. Ill never be against your family as long as they respect me and our home. Theyre welcome when they bring a cake, a smile, and a proper apology. Till then, doors shut.

Shut, Tom agreed, shuffling awkwardly, then mustering a sheepish grin. So, since its just us today… Fancy a takeaway? Pizza? Chinese? My treat. And no washing up.”

Emily burst out laughing, properly laughing for the first time in days.

Pizza, please. And put on that film we keep missing.

While Tom fussed with his phone, happily scrolling Deliveroo, Emily opened the fridge, retrieved that hidden slab of chocolate cake, poured herself a fresh coffee, and settled at the spotless table. Finally, a weekend that belonged to her to them.

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