When I fulfilled my dream and bought a house for my husband and me, he declared on the very first day: «My mom, sister, and kids will live with us…

Clients delayed payments, promised projects fell through, reliable clients suddenly vanished. I never reproached him for it, knowing he was doing everything he could. But the main financial burden fell on me.

Eight years of marriage, five years of targeted saving—and here was the result. The house I had dreamed of all my life. A cozy nest where Ethan and I could finally put down roots, create a real family, have children.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft pink tones, when I made one last round of all the rooms, closing windows and checking that the lights were off. I couldn’t stay in the house overnight—there was no furniture, not even a mattress to sleep on. Besides, I wanted to show the house to Ethan first.

I wanted to see the expression on his face when he first entered and realized the dream had come true. As I left, I cast a last glance at the living room with the bay window. In the rays of the setting sun, the colored reflections from the stained glass became brighter, as if the house was saying goodbye to me until tomorrow.

I smiled, closed the door, and turned the key twice in the lock. Ahead was the long-awaited moment: I was going to pick up Ethan from work and bring him here, hand him the keys to our new home, see the joy and surprise on his face. I imagined us sitting on the floor in the empty living room, drinking champagne from plastic cups and making plans for the future.

How we would choose furniture, discuss wall colors, plan renovations and furnishings. But life often surprises us, and not always pleasantly. I couldn’t imagine that instead of a joyful evening, the hardest trial of my life awaited me.

A trial that would turn everything upside down and force me to look at my own marriage with completely different eyes. My sister Sophia I had always considered my complete opposite. She was three years younger than me, but seemed more mature, sensible, and practical.

If I was emotional, trusting, a dreamer, then Sophia was iron logic and cold calculation. A lawyer by education, she had worked in a real estate agency since her university days, specializing in the legal aspects of housing deals. And I had to admit, by the age of thirty, she had achieved significant success in her field.

Our relationship had never been simple. In childhood, we often quarreled: I didn’t want to share toys, she responded with petty pranks. In adolescence, we competed for our parents’ attention and mutual friends.

Then our paths diverged: I studied to be an economist, she a lawyer, each had her own circle of friends, her own interests. We met occasionally, at family holidays, exchanged obligatory phrases, but there was no real closeness between us. Everything changed when our parents died.

Dad went first—a heart attack took him suddenly, without a chance to say goodbye. Mom lasted longer—pancreatic cancer, agonizing six months of fading. Sophia and I were with her until the end, taking turns at the hospital bedside, making tough decisions together, crying together when it was all over.

Grief brought us closer than anything else could have. We realized we were alone in this world, no one else would love us as unconditionally and selflessly as our parents had. Only we could truly support each other, only we remembered our shared childhood, family jokes, Mom’s intonations, Dad’s smile.

After the funeral, we started calling each other every day, meeting on weekends, sharing news and problems. Sophia often came to visit Ethan and me, bringing homemade baked goods—she cooked amazingly well for someone who spent twelve hours a day at work—offered advice when difficulties arose. With her, I could talk about things I didn’t even tell my husband: about fear of the future, doubts in my own abilities, uncertainty about tomorrow.

It was Sophia who first learned about my dream to buy my own house. We were sitting in her kitchen, drinking tea with vanilla buns, and I, without knowing why, told her how since childhood I had dreamed of a big house with a garden. How I imagined growing flowers, picking apples, swinging in a hammock between trees.

How I wanted a place that truly belonged to me, where I would feel safe. «Why don’t you make this dream come true?» Sophia asked, looking at me attentively over her teacup. «You earn well, Ethan brings in some money too.

If you start saving, in a few years you could save for a down payment.» «I don’t know,» I shrugged. «It seems like an unattainable dream.

Real estate prices are rising faster than we can save. Besides, we just paid off the loans for the apartment renovation.» «Nothing unattainable,» Sophia set her cup down decisively.

«Let’s look at your finances and make a plan.» That’s how our joint work on my dream began. Sophia helped me sort out the family budget, identify unnecessary expenses, outline ways to save.

We opened a special account where I transferred a certain amount monthly—at first small, then, as I got used to living on less, increasingly significant. Ethan was initially skeptical about the idea. «We’re barely making ends meet as it is,» he said when I refused a restaurant outing or buying new clothes.

But gradually, he got involved in the saving process too. He took on more orders, worked nights, gave up expensive hobbies. The money in the account grew slowly but steadily.

The first serious blow to our plan came two years after we started saving. My older brother Lucas, with whom I had never been particularly close, got into trouble. His business—a small construction firm—was on the brink of bankruptcy.

He urgently needed a large sum of money to pay off creditors and preserve his reputation in the market. Lucas came to me because I was the only one in the family who might have savings. Sophia lived lavishly, not saving for the future.

There were no other relatives left. I couldn’t refuse my brother, despite the lack of close ties—he was still family. I had to give him almost all the savings, leaving pitiful scraps in the account.

Lucas solemnly promised to repay the debt with interest in six months, when his business got back on its feet. But, of course, that didn’t happen. His firm still went bankrupt, and he himself, taking a bank loan with several guarantors including me, simply disappeared from the city.

Later, we learned he had moved to another country, started a new life, and had no intention of repaying debts. As a guarantor, I had to pay off his loan, which seriously damaged my credit history. For three years, I paid the bank money I hadn’t borrowed, covering my irresponsible brother’s debts.

It was a tough period. Ethan and I argued more than usual, money was scarce even for essentials, let alone saving for the future house. Besides, I felt incredibly foolish—trusting a brother who had always been unreliable, and paying for my naivety.

Sophia supported me during this difficult time. She didn’t reproach me for carelessness, didn’t say «I told you so,» although she had indeed advised against giving money to Lucas. She was just there, helping with the legal aspects of the situation, offering a shoulder when it got really hard.

«It’s okay,» she said, «we’ll start over. Once you sort out your brother’s loan, we’ll save for the house again. Dreams don’t die if you truly believe in them.»..