When my mother-in-law found out we were planning to buy a flat, she pulled my husband aside for a chat. What happened next left me stunned.
My husband and I had been saving for years to buy our own place. Working for an international firm, I earned nearly double what he did, but we pooled our money fairlyshared budget, shared goals. The dream of owning our home kept us united, and it seemed nothing could stand in our way. Until his family caught wind of it.
He had four sisters. In that household, he wasnt just a brotherhe was the backbone, the fixer, the one who sorted everyones problems. Since his youth, hed helped them allsometimes paying for their studies, other times buying them phones, or just “lending a bit till payday,” though the money never came back. I saw it all, bit my tongue, endured it. I understoodfamily comes first. I even sent money to my own parents now and then. But because of this “help,” our path to owning a flat stretched three years longer than it should have.
Finally, when we’d scraped together enough, we started house hunting. I did most of the searchingmy husband was swamped with work, coming home late. Honestly, I didnt mind organising it all, picking the best option, since I wanted it perfect for both of us.
Then his mother invited us over for a celebrationthe youngest sister had just finished school. We arrived, ate dinner, and suddenly, my mother-in-law struck up a conversation.
“Suppose my boy will be moving into his own place soon Wont have to traipse about visiting anymore,” she said with a smile.
My husband, beaming with pride, announced we were already looking and that I was handling the search.
You shouldve seen how quickly her face changed. The smile vanished. She sized me up with a cold stare and said in an icy tone:
“Of course, thats lovely But you shouldve consulted me first, son. Ive lived a lifetimeI know better. Did you really leave such an important decision to your wife?”
The eldest sister chimed in:
“Exactly. Shes selfish. Only thinks of herself. Not a single pound has she ever given us. That flat means more to her than family!”
I nearly choked on my food at the sheer audacity. I wanted to lay into themif they needed money so badly, why not earn it themselves? But I held back. Just kept eating, silent, refusing to engage in their nonsense. I couldve fallen off my chair. A blow like that at a family dinner was the last thing I expected.
Then my mother-in-law stood, grabbed my husbands arm, and dragged him into the kitchen. “We need to talk,” she muttered as she rushed off. At the table, the middle sister suddenly declared:
“Me and our brother will be living in his new flat. Well have our own room.”
Rage burned through me so fiercely my cheeks pulsed. Before I could stop myself, I stood and walked straight to the hallway. No need to gather anythingwe left in a cab.
That evening at home, I tried talking to him. But he was a stranger. Sat there in silence, and in the end, I realisedfrom that day on, he wasnt my husband anymore. Just his mothers son.
