Having my husband’s cousin stay over is making me uncomfortable, and I’m struggling with how to handle it. This isn’t the kind of discomfort that comes from sharing space or adjusting to someone new in the house—it’s deeper, like an instinct telling me something is off. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but every little interaction with him seems to set me on edge.

It started small, little things I tried to ignore. He barely makes eye contact when he talks to me, but I often catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye when he thinks I don’t notice. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but his lingering gaze has become almost constant, like he’s silently observing, evaluating.

My husband assures me it’s temporary and insists his cousin is just going through a rough patch. He’s been out of work and had nowhere else to go, so my husband agreed to help him get back on his feet. I want to be supportive; I really do. Family is important, and I know how much this means to my husband. But I also can’t ignore the unease that’s grown since his cousin moved in.

Each day, I find myself adapting, trying to avoid any unnecessary encounters. I’ve started staying in my room more often or timing my trips to the kitchen when he’s out of the house. I know this sounds irrational, but the way he moves around the house, so quietly and with such purpose, almost feels invasive. Once, I went to grab something from the guest room—forgetting he was using it now—and found him standing there in the dark, staring at a picture on the wall. He didn’t even acknowledge me; he just turned away without a word.

When I’ve tried to bring this up with my husband, he dismisses it, saying I’m being too sensitive. He laughs it off as just his cousin’s “odd personality.” But it’s more than that. I feel tense all the time, anxious in my own home. I find myself second-guessing whether I’m overreacting or if my instincts are onto something.

I’m at a crossroads. Part of me wants to confront him directly, maybe ask if he’s settling in okay and gauge his reaction. Another part of me thinks I should wait it out, hoping he’ll leave soon and that life will go back to normal. But each day that passes, I feel more trapped, caught between wanting to support my husband and my need for peace in my own space.

This uncertainty, this discomfort—it’s a silent weight I carry around, and I’m beginning to wonder how much longer I can bear it.