I Hate My Down Syndrome Sister-in-Law

I know how terrible that title sounds, but I’m tired of pretending that I only feel stressed or overwhelmed. After three years, I have to admit that I genuinely hate having my sister-in-law living in my house.

My husband and I had been married for only a month when both of his parents died from Covid. His younger sister Emily has Down syndrome and had always lived with them, so after their deaths she came to live with us.

At first, I really tried to make it work. My in-laws had done almost everything for Emily, even things she was perfectly capable of learning to do herself. I taught her how to clean up after herself, prepare simple food, put away her clothes, and take care of small responsibilities around the house.

For a while, I was actually proud of her progress.

But as time passed, I started feeling like my own life was disappearing.

Emily goes to an adult school for a few hours during the week, but other than that she is almost always home. My husband and I rarely get time alone anymore, and almost every plan we make has to include her somehow.

I know she didn’t choose this life. She lost both of her parents, and my husband is the closest family she has left. I understand all of that, but it hasn’t stopped me from resenting her.

Eventually, I started bringing up supported living programs. I told Emily she could meet people her own age, have more independence, and maybe even enjoy having her own space.

She always gave me the same answer.

She wanted to stay with me and her brother.

Every time she said that, I felt trapped.

A few months ago, I took her to a large department store because she loves looking at clothes. We had been walking around for almost an hour when she stopped in the women’s section and showed me a blouse she liked.

While she was talking, I suddenly had this horrible thought.

What if I just walked away?

I knew Emily didn’t handle crowded places very well. If she lost sight of me, she could easily become confused or frightened.

Still, I told her to wait there because I needed to look for something.

She nodded and trusted me.

I walked into the next section. Then I kept going until I reached the escalator and went downstairs.

Even then, I could have turned around.

I didn’t.

I walked out of the store and went all the way to my car.

For several minutes, I just sat behind the wheel and looked toward the entrance. I knew Emily was somewhere inside waiting for me, and I knew that sooner or later she would realize I wasn’t coming back.

The worst part is that I didn’t immediately feel panic.

For a few minutes, I actually imagined going home without her. I imagined opening my front door and having the house quiet again, even if it was only for a little while.

Then I started the car.

My hands were shaking, but I still pulled out of the parking space.

I looked at the store one last time and drove toward the exit.

And even now, I don’t know how far I would have gone if something hadn’t happened before I reached the main road.

I couldn’t fit the rest of this story here. In the first comment, I shared what happened after I left Emily inside that store, how she was eventually found, and the lie I told my husband when I came back. What happened after that made me realize I had gone much further than I was willing to admit even to myself. Read the continuation below 👉👉‼️‼️⬇️⬇️

If you don’t see it, change the comment setting from “Most Relevant” to “All Comments.” 👇👇

PART 2

I made it almost to the main road before I finally stopped.

I sat there with the engine running and realized I had no idea what I was doing. For a few minutes, I had actually convinced myself that leaving Emily behind was somehow just a break, but once I was far enough away that I could no longer see the store entrance, the whole thing started to feel different.

I turned around and drove back.

By the time I got inside, security had already found her. She was sitting near customer service with tears all over her face, and the second she saw me she stood up and came toward me.

She hugged me.

That was what made me feel the worst.

She didn’t ask why I left. She didn’t accuse me of anything. She just kept saying she was scared and asking where I had gone.

I told her we had gotten separated.

She believed me.

When we got home, I told my husband the same thing. I said the store was crowded, I had turned around for a minute, and when I looked back Emily was gone.

He was upset, but not with me. He kept asking Emily if she was okay and telling her that accidents happen.

Emily never corrected my story.

For a while, I thought that meant she really believed it.

Now I’m not so sure.

After that day, I started thinking about supported living even more seriously. I kept bringing it up to my husband, and every time he told me the same thing: Emily was family and she wasn’t being sent away just because our life had become harder.

That answer made me angrier than it should have.

I started avoiding Emily more. I stayed at work longer when I could. I sat in my car before coming inside. Sometimes I would hear her talking to my husband in the kitchen and wait until she went to her room before I came in.

Then last week everything finally came out.

My husband and I had planned to go out for our anniversary, and I had been looking forward to having one evening where it was only the two of us. A few hours before dinner, Emily’s school called and said they were closing early.

My husband immediately said we would cancel.

I told him I didn’t want to cancel anymore.

He started suggesting other arrangements, but I finally told him that I wasn’t talking about dinner. I told him I wanted Emily to move out.

Permanently.

He looked shocked, but I had already started talking and I couldn’t stop.

I told him I was tired of feeling like there were three people in our marriage. I told him I wanted privacy and a normal home. I told him I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life arranging everything around his sister.

Then, for reasons I still don’t completely understand, I told him about the department store.

I admitted that I hadn’t really lost Emily.

I had walked away from her on purpose.

My husband just stared at me.

He asked how long I had left her alone.

I told him I didn’t know exactly.

Then he asked if I had ever done anything like that before.

I didn’t answer right away.

That was enough for him to know.

Before he could ask again, we heard someone behind us.

Emily was standing in the hallway.

I had no idea how long she had been listening.

She looked at me for a while and then asked, very quietly, if I had really left her at the store because I didn’t want her anymore.

I didn’t know what to say.

Then she looked at my husband and said:

“She did it before.”

My husband turned toward me.

Emily told him about two other times I had left her somewhere longer than I should have and told her not to mention it because he would be angry.

I could see something change in my husband’s face while she was talking.

He wasn’t just upset anymore.

He looked like he didn’t trust me.

After Emily went to her room, he told me to pack a bag.

I asked him if he really meant that.

He said yes.

For the first time in three years, the person being told to leave the house wasn’t Emily.

It was me.

I stayed with a friend for several days, and during that time I had more silence than I had wanted for years.

The strange part was that it didn’t feel good.

It felt empty.

My husband eventually agreed to meet me and talk. He told me that he understood I had been overwhelmed, but leaving Emily somewhere on purpose crossed a line he couldn’t ignore.

I didn’t argue with him.

There wasn’t much to argue about.

We both realized something we should have dealt with years earlier: this living arrangement wasn’t working for anyone.

My husband was exhausted too. He had been carrying guilt because his parents were gone and he believed taking care of Emily at home was the only decent thing he could do.

Emily was also more aware of the tension than either of us had realized.

She knew I wanted her gone.

She had known for a long time.

That hurt to hear, because I had spent years telling myself she didn’t understand how I felt.

Eventually, with the help of a social worker, we found a supported living program that was completely different from the places I had been pushing on her before. Residents had their own space, support when they needed it, activities, work opportunities, and the ability to visit family whenever they wanted.

At first Emily refused to go.

I understood why.

She thought it was another way for me to get rid of her.

So my husband took her to visit without me.

A few weeks later, she asked to go back.

Then, several months after that, she decided she wanted to move there.

That part matters to me now.

She decided.

Nobody tricked her or forced her.

Emily has been living there for a while now, and she is doing better than I expected. She has friends, she does more for herself, and sometimes she even tells us she’s too busy to come over for dinner.

My husband and I are still together, although things are not exactly the way they were before.

Trust takes time.

A few weeks ago, Emily came over for dinner, and when my husband went outside for a while, I finally apologized to her properly.

I told her I was sorry for leaving her at the store.

I didn’t tell her I was stressed or tired. I didn’t try to make it sound less serious than it was.

I just told her that what I did was wrong.

She looked at me and said:

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

I still think about that sentence.

I told her I was sorry.

She didn’t tell me she forgave me, and I didn’t ask her to.

I don’t know if I ever really hated Emily, or if I hated what my life had become and decided she was the easiest person to blame for it.

Maybe both things were true for a while.

What I do know is that I spent three years trying to make her leave because I thought getting my house back would fix everything.

In the end, the only way anything improved was when all three of us stopped pretending the situation was working and finally let Emily have something I had never really given her before:

a choice.