My sister threw me out onto the street without remorse.

My sister Gemma had always been the most important person in my life. After our parents passed away, we promised each other we would always support and stand by one another.

When my son grew up and moved to London, I stayed behind in Manchester. Then, my husband and I divorced, and I lost my home.

Gemma let me stay in her flat, though she was rarely there—always jetting off abroad.

Since I had worked for my ex-husband’s company, I not only lost my home but my job too. Things were tough. At first, I lived off my savings, then found work as a cleaner. By then, I’d been staying at Gemma’s for over two years.

One day, she told me I’d have to leave soon—she had decided to rent the place out and had even spoken to an estate agent about it.

I didn’t know what to say. All I managed was a quiet “Alright.” My hands shook, and for a moment, I could barely breathe. But I had to pull myself together and figure out what to do next. Where would I go? It was a real problem.

When Gemma walked in later, she was chirping about utility bills and an appointment with the agent. I couldn’t even focus on her words. That same evening, she flew off to Ibiza for four months, absolutely thrilled. Normally, I’d be happy for her—but not this time.

All I could think about was where I’d live. Renting even a tiny studio in Manchester costs a fortune, and my wages would barely cover a rundown shed on the outskirts. I turned over every option, but nothing made sense.

A month later, the doorbell rang.

A young woman stood there, introducing herself as Gemma’s estate agent. She told me to leave immediately—new tenants were moving in that night. I tried explaining I had nowhere to go, that my sister hadn’t warned me. She wouldn’t listen. I called Gemma, but with the time difference, it was the middle of the night in Ibiza.

I gathered my things and stepped outside. That night, I slept on a park bench. In the morning, a text came through from Gemma: “Love, so sorry it ended this way. I’m sure you’ve found somewhere new by now.”

It shattered my heart. How could she do this to me? She was my own sister.

I understood she needed money—but why blindside me like this?

I felt devastated that money mattered more than family.

Eventually, I rented a tiny room in an old house on the edge of town. Later, I found a better job, making things slightly easier.

Now I sit in my cramped little room like a mouse, careful not to disturb anyone, terrified of losing my home again.

What hurt most was Gemma never apologising.

She started calling lately, asking how I was. But there’s no room left for her in my heart. I just tell her I’m fine—no different from anyone else.

This letter comes from a woman in Manchester. There’s no anger in her words, just a plea to cherish those close to your heart. The hurt is clear, but she believes sincere apologies can mend anything.

Think about it. Have you ever upset someone without meaning to? Maybe now’s the time to ask for forgiveness.