Scandal in the town because of the sister
“How could you kick them out of the house? They’re your Aunt Zoe and your cousin Lidia, your own flesh and blood! They’re already having a hard time, Lidia’s divorced and raising her son alone,” my mother, Nina Vicenta, cried, tears in her eyes. And now, on top of that, rumors are spreading around town that I, Maria, am heartless for throwing my family out onto the street. The neighbors are gossiping, my acquaintances are leering at me, and I’m fed up with all this. I’m not a monster; I had my reasons for asking them to leave! But who will listen? In the village, it’s easier to judge than to understand. I’m tired of justifying myself, but I can’t keep quiet any longer—I have to tell what happened.
It all started a month ago, when Aunt Zoe and Lidia, along with their son Arturo, arrived at our house. Lidia had just divorced a husband who, according to her, “was no saint.” She was left alone with five-year-old Arturo, jobless, and homeless—her ex-husband took the apartment. Aunt Zoe, her mother, also decided to move from the village to the city because “she felt overwhelmed in the apartment.” They called me and asked to stay with us for a while, until they found somewhere to settle. Of course, I didn’t say no—they’re family. My husband and I live in a large house; we have two children, but there’s plenty of room. I thought they’d be there for a couple of weeks, and that’s it. How wrong I was!
From day one, Aunt Zoe acted as if the house were hers. She’d move the furniture around because “it lets in more light,” sneak into the kitchen and criticize my dishes: “Maria, how are you going to make soup without bay leaves?” I endured it, smiling, but inside I seethed. Lidia, instead of looking for a job or a house, spent the day on her cell phone or complaining about how difficult it was for her. Arturo, of course, is a good boy, but he ran around the house like a hurricane, breaking my children’s toys, and Lidia just shrugged: “He’s little, what are you going to do?” I offered to help—find her a job, look after Arturo while she went to interviews. But she’d respond: “Maria, don’t pressure me, I’ve already had enough.”
Two weeks later, I realized they had no intention of leaving. Aunt Zoe announced she wanted to stay in the village forever and hinted that we could “build an extension on the house.” Lidia seconded her: “Yes, María, you inherited this house, and what about Arturo and me, are we going to live on the streets?” It left me speechless. Do I have to support them just because they’re “poor relatives”? My husband and I have spent years working to fix up this house, raising the children, paying the mortgage. And now I have to share my space with people who don’t even say thank you?
I tried to talk to them calmly. I said, “Zoe, Lidia, we’re happy to help you, but you have to find your place. We can’t live together forever.” Aunt Zoe threw up her hands: “Maria, are you kicking us out? But I’m your aunt!” Lidia started crying, Arturo started complaining, and I felt like the worst person in the world. But I knew that if I didn’t set limits, they would continue living at my expense. In the end, I gave them a week to find a place and offered to pay the first month’s rent. But they were offended and went to the house of some acquaintances, telling me, “You’ll regret this, Maria.”
And now the town is talking about nothing else. My mother came crying: “Maria, how could you? Lidia is alone with a child!” I tried to explain that I didn’t kick them out, I just asked them to take charge of their own lives. But she shook her head: “There’s already talk that you don’t care about the family.” The neighbors whispered, one even said that “a curse was going to fall on me.” And it hurts me. I’m not made of stone, I helped them as much as I could! But why should I sacrifice my home, my peace, so that they can be comfortable?
I spoke to my husband, and he supported me: “Maria, you’re right, we’re not their breadwinners. They’re adults, let them solve their own problems.” But even his words don’t take away this weight. I feel guilty, even though I know I did the right thing. Lidia could find a job—there are jobs in the village, and the city isn’t far away. Aunt Zoe could return to her apartment or at least not act like the mistress of my house. But they chose to play the victim, and now I’m the villain.
Sometimes I think: Should I have held on? Given them another month, helped more? But then I remember how Aunt Zoe threw away my old vases because they were “in the way,” or how Lidia didn’t even apologize when Arturo broke our lamp. No, I can’t live like this. My house is my refuge, my family. And I don’t want it to become a shelter for those who don’t want to take responsibility.
My mother says I should apologize and call them back. But I’m not going to. Let them say what they want, let the town gossip. I know why I did it, and I’m not ashamed. Lidia and Aunt Zoe are my flesh and blood, but that doesn’t mean I have to carry them. I want them to find their way, but not at my expense. And the rumors… Let them continue. I don’t live for gossip, but for my family. Period.
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