When my husbands mother learned we intended to buy a flat, she called her son aside for a word. What followed left me utterly shaken.
My husband and I had saved for years to own a home. Though I earned twice his wage at an international firm, we shared everything fairlyjoint funds, joint dreams. Our hope of owning a place bound us together, and it seemed nothing could break that. Until his family heard of it.
He had four sisters. In that household, he was not just a brother but their pillarthe solver of every trouble. From his youth, he had aided each: paying for studies, buying phones, or simply lending until payday, though the money never returned. I saw it all, held my tongue, endured. I understoodfamily must help. Even I sent funds to my own parents now and then. Yet because of this help, our path to a home stretched nearly three years longer.
At last, when the sum was saved, we began our search. I took the leadmy husband was buried in work, returning late each night. I took pride in arranging it all, choosing the best option, striving for us both.
Then his mother invited us to a celebrationthe youngest sister had finished school. We dined, made pleasantries, until suddenly, his mother spoke:
I suppose my boy will soon move into his own flat Too busy to visit, no doubt, she said, smiling.
Proudly, my husband declared we were already looking, and that I handled the search.
The change in her face was instant. Her smile vanished. She measured me with a cold stare and spoke in a tone like frost:
Well, thats fine But you ought to consult me, son. Ive lived longerI know better. How could you leave such an important matter to your wife?
The eldest sister chimed in:
Exactly. Your wife is selfish. Thinks only of herself. Not a single pound has she spared us. Her flat matters more than family!
I nearly choked on the shame of such words. I longed to lay bare my thoughtsif they needed money so badly, let them earn it themselves. But I held my tongue. I kept eating, silent, refusing to engage in their nonsense. I might have fallen off my chair. Such a blow at a festive tableI never expected it.
Then his mother stood, seized his arm, and marched him to the kitchen. We must talk, she tossed over her shoulder. At the table, the middle sister announced:
My brother and I will live in his new flat. Well have our own room.
Rage seized me so fiercely my cheeks burned. Without another word, I rose and left for the hall. No need to gather my thingswe took a cab home.
That evening, I tried to speak with my husband. But he was a stranger. He sat in silence, and by the end, I knewfrom that day on, he was not my husband, but only his mothers son.
