I have an older sister named Sheila, and to say I despise her would be an understatement. She is the reason I’m here, asking strangers on the internet if what I did was wrong.
Sheila was the eldest, an unplanned baby born while our parents were still in college. For the first two years of her life, she lived mostly with our grandparents. When our parents finally graduated and married, she moved in with them, but that early separation left a mark. She became intensely clingy, desperate for their undivided attention. For three years, she was the center of their world. Then, I was born.
From that moment, Sheila’s resentment took root. My earliest memories are of her pushing me away, pulling my hair until I screamed. Our parents dismissed it as normal sibling rivalry, but it never stopped. It only got worse. She’d lock me in rooms, slap or kick me when she was annoyed. I was a child; I didn’t understand this wasn’t normal because our parents never made it a big deal.
The turning point came one afternoon when I was seven. She asked me to play ball. Instead of playing, she repeatedly threw the ball directly at my face. I begged her to stop, but she just smiled. Finally, a hard strike sent warm liquid trickling down my face. My nose was bleeding, the pain intense. As I tried to run inside, she blocked my path, her eyes cold. “You will not tell them what happened,” she hissed. “You’ll say you fell. You will not get help from Mom until you agree.”
I lied, but the CCTV cameras my dad had installed told the truth. Our parents were shocked. Dad yelled, but Mom, always protective of Sheila, called it a “one-time thing.” Sheila, furious at being caught, glared at me. The bullying escalated. She’d slam car doors on my fingers or shove me in school hallways when no teachers were around. She’d steal my lunch money and tell my friends I was a “stinky backstabber.”
My ninth birthday was a small victory. I convinced my parents to throw an anime-themed party. Sheila scoffed, “No one will even show up.” To her surprise, the party was a massive success. My classmates, fellow anime fans, all came dressed as their favorite characters. For the first time, my parents saw me as confident and well-liked, not the shy, reserved child their eldest daughter had bullied me into being. Sheila sulked all evening, refusing even to sing “Happy Birthday.” I didn’t care. For once, the spotlight was mine.
As I grew older, I learned to fight back. I stood up to her taunts, calling out her own insecurities. Our dad, sterner than our mom, held her accountable when I brought her actions to his attention. She hated me for it, but she learned I was no longer an easy target.
After high school, Sheila had no plans. She took a “gap year” that turned into several, backpacking across Europe on our parents’ dime. When the year ended, Dad cut her off financially, insisting she get a degree. She refused, claiming she’d be a “digital nomad,” a venture that failed because every job required a basic college degree. She resorted to volunteer work for lodging and meals, all while constantly complaining about how hard her life was.
Meanwhile, I excelled. I was accepted into my dream university with a partial scholarship. My parents were ecstatic and decided to throw a party to celebrate. Sheila, who hadn’t been home in months, was furious. She called Mom, complaining that they were celebrating my success in her face, taunting her for not getting into college. Mom, missing her eldest, insisted she attend.
Sheila arrived a few days before the party, a storm cloud in our home. She didn’t congratulate me once. On the day of the party, as relatives arrived with gifts, she began drinking heavily. Our grandfather stood to give a toast.
“We are so proud of both our girls, Sheila and…” he began, but was cut off by Sheila snorting loudly.
“Proud of both of us?” she slurred, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t lie, Grandpa. We all know why you’re really here. For the golden child.”
The room fell silent. My cheeks burned with shame.
“Our parents always loved you more!” she continued, her voice rising. “Everyone showed up with gifts for her. No one ever helped me! You should have never had two children if you were just going to abandon one!”
Dad moved to escort her out, but our grandfather, a soft-spoken man, raised his voice for the first time I could remember. “That is enough, Sheila!” he boomed. “Your parents worked themselves to the bone for you! If they never wanted you, they had that option! If you are jealous of your little sister, that is a poison inside of you, and only you can fix it!”
Shaken, Sheila fled in tears, our mother close behind. She never apologized.
Years passed. Sheila’s life spiraled. After a drunk driving accident where she crashed into a fence, Dad finally kicked her out. She couch-surfed, calling me once for money. Despite everything, I sent her what I could from my part-time job savings. She used it to party, then blocked me when I tried to talk to her about it. That was the last straw. For three years, we heard almost nothing from her.
Then, during my final year of college, she called. She sounded… happy. She had met a man, Jack, and wanted me to meet him. She acted as if the past had never happened. Reluctantly, I agreed.
At lunch, Jack was charming. Sheila seemed genuinely happy. Then, Jack started praising her. “I’m so lucky to have met such an accomplished woman,” he said, beaming. “A Berkeley graduate! Sheila’s always telling me about her college days.”
Our parents and I froze. Sheila avoided our eyes, quickly changing the subject. It was clear she had fabricated her entire education. Later, she called, begging us not to expose her. Dad pressed her, and she confessed to forging college documents to get her job.
Three months later, Sheila called again. She and Jack were engaged.
“I want you to plan the wedding,” she announced. “Since you’re still a student, you’re not as busy as my friends.”
She wasn’t asking me to be a bridesmaid or even her maid of honor; those roles were already filled by her co-workers. She expected me to be her unpaid event planner. I refused. My final year of college was demanding, and I had no desire to cater to her manipulative demands. She was furious, but I held my ground.
A few weeks later, the engagement party was held. I arrived, exhausted from a six-hour bus ride. Sheila met me at the door, not with a greeting, but with an order. “You’re late,” she snapped. “And we’re short on servers. You said you’d help with an easy task. You can serve drinks.”
She pushed me toward the back before I could even say hello to our parents. I was stunned, but as I put on an apron, an idea formed. This was the perfect opportunity.
As I served drinks, I found Jack. “You don’t need to be doing this,” he said graciously.
“It’s no problem,” I replied, pressing a folded note into his hand. “Please, read this when you have a private moment. It’s important.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jack emerged from the washroom, his face flushed. He walked straight to Sheila. “Have you been lying to me?” he asked, his voice low and tight. “Did you ever even go to college?”
Her eyes widened in horror. The guests fell silent. Jack turned to my parents. “Is it true?”
My dad didn’t hesitate. “Sheila has never pursued higher education.”
The world seemed to stop. “How could you lie about something so fundamental?” Jack demanded, his voice cracking with humiliation. “What else have you lied about?”
The party imploded. Jack left with his family, telling Sheila he needed space. Her co-workers, including her manager, fled hastily. Sheila was left alone, publicly shamed. She suspects a relative told Jack, but she has no proof. I urged him in the note not to reveal his source, and he didn’t.
A few days later, Jack officially called off the wedding. He asked for the engagement ring back—a family heirloom—and told her to move out.
I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t lie; I simply exposed the truth. Her relationship ended because it was built on a foundation of deceit. If I confess, her rage will be redirected at me, and I refuse to invite that chaos back into my life. I hope this teaches her a lesson. I hope she finally decides to become a better person. But I won’t be holding my breath.