When my motherinlaw learned we were planning to buy an apartment, she called my husband over for a chat. What followed left me stunned.
My husband and I had been saving for years to own our own home. I worked for a stable international firm, earning twice as much as he did, yet at home we maintained a joint budget and shared goals. The dream of our flat kept us united, and it seemed nothing could stand in our wayuntil his family found out.
He has four sisters. In their household a man isnt just a sibling; hes the pillar, the rescuer, the one who fixes every problem. From a young age he helped each of them: paying for their studies, buying phones, lending them until his next paycheckloans that were never repaid. I watched, kept quiet, and endured. I understood that they were his blood and needed support. I even sent money to my own parents at times. Those helpings delayed our apartment plans by almost three years.
When we finally managed to gather enough, the search began. I took charge of most of it; he was often working late. I enjoyed organizing everything, picking the best option for both of us.
One evening his mother invited us to a celebration for her youngest daughters highschool graduation. We attended, had dinner, and midway through the meal my motherinlaw blurted out:
Soon my son will move into his own flat Im tired of hopping from house to house.
My husband, proud, replied that we were already looking and that I was handling everything.
His expression changed instantly. The smile vanished. He gave me a cold stare and said sharply:
Thats fine but, son, you should ask me first. I have experience. Would you leave something that important to chance for your wife?
His eldest sister backed him up:
Yes. Your wife is selfish. She only thinks of herself. Shes never helped us! Her flat matters more than family!
I almost choked. I wanted to unleash everything, tell them they could work if they wanted money. I said nothing. I kept eating, silent, not taking the bait. I was in shock; I never expected such a betrayal at dinner.
Then my motherinlaw stood up, grabbed her sons arm, and led him to the kitchen. We need to talk, she said as they left. The middle sister interjected:
Well live with our brother in his new flat. Therell be a room for us.
My temples throbbed. I couldnt stay. I got up, went to the hallway, and left without gathering my things; we took a taxi out.
That night I tried to talk to my husband, but he was distant, quiet. Suddenly he said:
We have to get divorced.
What?
Its best. I need to think about my family my real family.
The next day he packed his things and left. Two weeks later he called to demand his half of the savings. I transferred it to himno shouting, no humiliation, no tears. I simply cut the rope.
Months later I bought an apartment in my name, with my own money. It was hard; I trimmed every expense and gave up many comforts, but I made it happen. He, as I later learned, kept living with his mother. As expected, his sisters divided his share: one borrowed it, another demanded it, the third begged for it. Nothing remained of his flat dream.
That isnt the story now. Mine is a lesson: if a man cant detach from his family, hell never be truly yours. If he lets others make decisions for you, youre not a family. And neither money nor vows can save a relationship where only you build and everyone else tears down.
