Why We Stopped Speaking to My Husband’s Family – A Tale of Exhaustion
Sometimes cutting ties with relatives isn’t a tragedy, but a liberation. No one drove us away—neither Nicholas nor I were openly insulted or cursed. Yet there came a time when we realised we’d become little more than a living cash machine for his entire family. And heaven forbid we didn’t hand over money at the first demand—we’d be crossed out, ignored, then remembered again only when the scent of money returned.
It began with simple kindness. We did our best to help—his parents, nieces and nephews, cousins. One favour led to another, and soon enough, it became a habit. People grow accustomed to generosity swiftly, especially when it means free money. Gratitude fades, replaced by an unshakable belief: if you gave once, you’re obliged to give always.
Our family had become a feeding trough—not just for his parents, but the whole clan. We stretched ourselves thin, denying our own needs just to assist others. Yet instead of thanks, we heard only, *”What’s the matter, can’t you spare it? You’re well-off!”* Though in truth, we weren’t wealthy—just hardworking and careful with our means.
Eventually, patience wore thin. We started saying *no*—plainly, calmly, without explanation. If pressed, we invented excuses: funds were tied up in savings, withdrawing would cost us dearly. For the particularly persistent, we’d even pull out loan brochures: *”Here, the bank will help you.”* It didn’t always work. Nicholas’s sister, Margaret, was especially relentless.
For five long years, we paid her daughter Emily’s university fees—every term, every expense. When Emily graduated, we breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, we could focus on what truly mattered, like helping Nicholas’s mother, Margaret—a kind-hearted woman, yet stubborn, refusing our aid. Her cottage was falling apart, the wiring unsafe, the pipes leaking. We persuaded her to stay with us while a crew transformed the place.
All seemed well—until Margaret reappeared. Emily was to be married, and—surprise!—money was needed again. I couldn’t help but laugh.
*”She has a groom, hasn’t she? Let him pay. Are we relatives or wedding caterers?”*
Margaret’s reply was astonishing: since we weren’t paying for Emily’s education anymore, surely we could cover the wedding. Words failed me. But the circus didn’t end there.
Days later, we returned from work to find Margaret in our kitchen, sipping tea with Nicholas’s mother, beaming.
*”You’re home! We’ve news—Mum’s taking a job to repay the renovations, so you can help with Emily’s celebration!”*
I opened my mouth, but Nicholas was quicker. Calmly, he took his mother’s phone.
*”Hello, Mr. Thompson? Nicholas here, Margaret’s son. She intended to work for you, but plans have changed. We’re off on holiday, and afterward, it won’t be possible. Thank you for understanding.”*
The look on Margaret’s face—flushed, lips trembling.
*”What is this nonsense?”*
Nicholas merely smiled.
*”It’s called refusing to be ridden roughshod over. The wedding’s your affair—sort it yourselves. You’d even push Mum into work just to squeeze more from us?”*
Margaret stormed out. His mother fretted.
*”Was that necessary? I wouldn’t have minded working…”*
Nicholas laughed.
*”The holiday was a ruse, but not a bad idea. Let’s actually go. The cottage is nearly done—we could all use a break.”*
Three days later, we were in Cornwall—sea breeze, quiet lanes, rolling hills. The best decision in years. As for Margaret and the rest? We don’t speak. And you know what? No tragedy. Just peace.
