I’m really jealous of Lucy, my younger sister. Her life resembles a fairy tale in which she is the princess and her husband, Tom, is a loyal knight who satisfies all of her desires. I, on the other hand, feel more like a weary Cinderella, suffocating from stress and despair while bearing the burden of the entire family. I feel like the world’s most stupid and wretched lady sometimes. James and I have been together for almost a decade. We have experienced numerous storms; while there have been happy occasions, the most of the time we have had to deal with difficult circumstances.
We are currently experiencing one of the bleakest periods in our lives. A year ago, James made the decision to change jobs. We were promised the world: a stable income, good conditions, a bright future. Yet reality cruelly mocked our hopes. The new position turned out to be a nightmare, worse than the previous one, and now James blames it all on me, as if I pushed him into this abyss.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, for me to change jobs? Are you happy now?” he tosses at me with a bitter smile whenever he gets the chance.
But who could have predicted such a turn of events? I only wanted him to grow, for our family to finally escape perpetual poverty. How was I to know it would end in disaster? Now we’re sinking in a financial pit. My salary is the only thing keeping us afloat since James has been missing out on payments for several months. We’re barely making ends meet, and every day I feel this burden crushing even heavier.
Last spring, my phone broke. Repairing it would cost nearly as much as buying a new one, so we chose to postpone the purchase. For months, I struggled with an old tablet until I had to pawn it, along with nearly all my gold jewelry, remnants of better days. We needed money urgently, and I sacrificed everything I had. And James’s belongings? No, we didn’t touch them—it was only my sacrifices that came into play.
Lucy, my younger sister, felt sorry for me and gave me her old phone so I could stay connected. I gave my all to ensure my family didn’t go hungry. Yes, James works too, sometimes taking on odd jobs, but he does it so reluctantly it’s as if I’m forcing him into hard labor. Every time, it takes coaxing, practically begging.
Recently, Lucy’s husband, Tom, mentioned that for her birthday on March 8th, she demanded the latest iPhone. I felt a fierce envy flare within me—an emotion I’m ashamed of but can’t suppress. Tom and Lucy rent a flat in Brighton, just like James and I do, but everything is different with them. Lucy has Tom dancing to her tune: he works evenings as a driver, goes on business trips, saves money, and caters to her every need. Her salary is her own little treasure, spent solely on herself. Last year, she simply walked into a boutique and bought herself a luxurious coat because she felt like it.
“A man should take care of the house, food, and other concerns,” she declares with the confidence of a queen.
Lucy is truly beautiful. She invests all her money in herself: eyelash extensions, perfect manicures, well-groomed brows, stylish hairstyles, fashionable clothes, and other feminine delights. Next to her, I feel like a grey shadow—scruffy, neglected, forgotten. I can’t even remember the last time I visited a hairdresser, let alone had a manicure. Everything I earn goes towards the family, while James doesn’t seem to consider bringing home an extra penny. It takes pliers to get him to pick up any additional work or embrace change.
The other day, I received my paycheck, and again James hinted that rent and groceries would have to come from my pocket. The injustice is tearing me apart: he’s not even trying to change anything or make an effort for us.
“You know we’re tight on money, and they’re delaying my paycheck again,” he muttered when I dared to ask what he’d get me for my birthday.
But if he doesn’t receive a gift on a special occasion, he sulks like a child. I always try to please him, finding even the smallest trinket so he doesn’t feel deprived. And him? I don’t expect fancy phones or extravagant surprises—happiness isn’t about money. But even receiving a simple act of care, a small gesture of concern from him is impossible. He just doesn’t get it.
I thought our troubles were temporary, just a dark patch that would soon pass. But now I see: it’s not just a patch, it’s a whole lifetime. I tried talking to James, leading to arguments, but he just throws his hands up: “They’re delaying my paycheck, what can I do?”
“And if we had children, how would we survive then?” I once asked in despair.
He stayed silent. And I look at Lucy, and envy eats away at me from inside. I’m ashamed of these feelings, but they overpower me. Her husband dotes on her, showers her with gifts, buys whatever she desires, while I’m still using her old phone which she discarded as unnecessary. Why is it that some women, like Lucy, have everything? Is it simply a happy fate? Or is it about the men? Why do some lives seem like one endless celebration, with just a snap of the fingers, while mine feels like endless grey gloom?