La vida

“Your Wife Is Getting Too Full of Herself. Teach Her How to Behave,” Demanded Max’s Mother-in-Law – Marina, my housewarming party’s tomorrow! I’ve invited so many people, and you know, the new flat is still completely unfurnished. Can you help me out? “Of course, Mrs. Newton,” replied Marina, though she’d planned her own relaxing weekend. And so it began: canapés for thirty guests, Caesar salad, mixed meats, a fruit arrangement, decorating the lounge, arranging the furniture. Just imagine: on Friday evening, instead of a romantic dinner with her husband, Marina made a trip to Tesco. Saturday from six in the morning meant prepping food… in someone else’s home. “Max, at least help me set out the chairs!” Marina pleaded with her husband. “But you know better what looks nice,” he shrugged, scrolling through his phone. By three o’clock, Mrs. Newton’s flat was transformed: a lavish buffet in the lounge, everything beautifully arranged, flowers set out just so. Marina looked at her work and felt utterly drained. The first guests arrived promptly at four: Mrs. Newton’s colleagues, neighbours from her old house, girlfriends. Everyone embraced the hostess, admired the flat, and handed over glittery housewarming gifts. Marina hovered in the kitchen, slicing lemons. “Where’s your daughter-in-law?” one guest asked. “She’s busy in the kitchen, of course,” Mrs. Newton waved dismissively. “Marina! Come in and say hello!” Marina came out, smiled, greeted everyone. “Oh, your daughter-in-law is so caring!” cooed a woman in an elegant suit. “You can see she’s got golden hands!” “Yes, I’ve brought up Marina well,” Mrs. Newton laughed smugly. “Now I have a dependable helper.” And then… things got even more interesting. There wasn’t a chair for Marina. “Sorry, dear Marina – you won’t have time to sit anyway,” Mrs. Newton said apologetically. “Better keep an eye on the food, serve the plates.” Marina nodded. What else could she do? So there she was, standing off to the side, almost like a waitress. Serving snacks, pouring champagne, clearing away empty napkins. Meanwhile, at the table: lively stories, laughter, toasts. “Remember, Mrs. Newton, that time at your old job—” began a colleague. Marina listened silently to their memories of a life she wasn’t really a part of. “Marina, could you refresh the fruit?” Mrs. Newton called loudly. Marina retreated to the kitchen, washed grapes, set them out on a platter. “How lovely!” the guests all cheered. “Mrs. Newton, you’ve got a real artist helping out!” “Max was so clever to choose such a homely wife!” added the woman in the suit. “I bet dinner is always ready, and the house is perfect!” Everyone laughed. Max smiled proudly too. Proud of what, exactly? Having free help around the house? But the evening wasn’t over. The table talk got freer, the guests more relaxed, voices louder. “Nina, do tell us about how Max charmed all the girls at university!” giggled one of Mrs. Newton’s old friends. “Oh, let’s not reminisce!” Mrs. Newton brushed it aside coquettishly, but she loved the attention. Everyone laughed. Max turned pink, though he was used to his mum’s boasting. Marina stood by the side table, polishing glasses. No one cared about her presence – she was part of the furniture. Useful, but invisible. “And at university, girls queued up for Max!” Mrs. Newton gushed on. “The Dean even joked, ‘Max will end up a Casanova!’ He turned out just as predicted! Before Marina, there were so many romances!” “Alright, Mum,” Max tried half-heartedly to stop her. “What’s wrong with that? Marina knows she’s not the only one,” laughed Mrs. Newton. “A man should know life! Otherwise, how will he build a family?” The woman in the suit nodded: “Exactly, Nina. It’s good for women too – a husband with experience is a blessing.” “Precisely!” Mrs. Newton agreed. “And Marina’s so calm. Not at all jealous!” All eyes turned to Marina, waiting for her to confirm she really was “calm.” Marina nodded. What alternative was there? “Marina, how did you and Max meet?” the neighbour asked cheerily. Marina opened her mouth but Mrs. Newton answered first: “At the bank! He’d just become a manager, she was a consultant. You could see straight away – a very serious and responsible girl.” Responsible. As if recommending her for a job. “I told Max: pay attention to that one. Not flighty, homely. Good for a family!” Just imagine – being described like merchandise. “Good for a family.” “And you made the perfect choice!” the woman in the suit exclaimed. “She’s a real grafter! Organised this whole housewarming, cared for everyone.” “Goes without saying,” Mrs. Newton confirmed. “I could tell straight off she was fit for family life. Not like today’s selfish girls who only think of themselves!” And now for the worst part – Max stayed silent. He didn’t protest. Didn’t say “Mum, enough.” He just sat and listened as his wife was discussed like a pedigree horse at auction. “When are the babies planned?” inevitably, someone asked. “Nina, aren’t you dreaming of grandchildren?” Mrs. Newton sighed wistfully: “I’d love some! But young people keep putting it off – work and all that. Time’s ticking!” Marina felt her cheeks burn. This topic stung. She and Max had been trying for nearly two years. She’d been seeing doctors, taking vitamins. So far everything looked fine, but every month brought fresh disappointment. “Well, it’s their private business,” said the neighbour tactfully. “Of course!” Mrs. Newton agreed. “But I hint every week – it’s time! Years go by, I want grandbabies!” Marina pressed her lips together. Hinted? She asked every week: “Any good news yet?” And Marina always blushed and mumbled apologies. “And maybe they’re not ready?” suggested another guest carefully. “Not ready?!” Mrs. Newton scoffed. “We were already having kids at their age! This new idea of not being ready… maternal instinct hasn’t disappeared!” Marina drifted over to the window. “Marina, dear!” called Mrs. Newton. “Don’t mope – come here, we’re discussing important things!” Marina stood beside Max’s armchair. “Just look at Max’s docile wife,” Mrs. Newton went on. “You ask – she delivers. Not like some modern girls, always complaining.” “And what rights does a wife have?” the woman in the suit mused. “Main thing’s keeping your husband happy and the family thriving.” “That’s right!” another guest agreed. “Women’s happiness is in their family and children.” Marina heard their talk grow tighter inside her. They spoke about her, not to her. “Nina, remember Max’s first serious girlfriend?” one guest piped up. “I think her name was Jenny?” “Oh, don’t remind me!” laughed Mrs. Newton. “Pretty, but what a temper! Always had to have her say, always argued. Not a wife – a punishment! I said to Max back then: ‘Son, think carefully. Do you really need such a shrew?’” Max fidgeted awkwardly but didn’t speak. “And you did right!” said the woman in the suit. “A mother knows best about her son’s match. Otherwise he’d be miserable for life!” “Marina, could you bring more ice?” Mrs. Newton asked. Marina nodded and went to the kitchen. She stood, staring at the ice cubes. Suddenly she realised: she wasn’t a guest. She was the help. Marina stood in the kitchen, bucket in hand, staring out at the evening. Lights twinkled on other balconies – people living their own lives. From the lounge came a happy chorus, someone singing karaoke. All were joining in. “Marina!” Mrs. Newton called. “Where’s the ice? And could you start the coffee?” Marina flicked the machine, grabbed the ice bucket, went to the lounge. “Here’s our little worker-bee!” the woman in the suit announced. “Marina, why so serious? Lighten up and join in!” “She’s tired is all,” Mrs. Newton waved away. “Been on her feet all day. But it’s fine – a woman must do it all. That’s how it is!” “Of course!” the neighbour chipped in. “The man must earn!” “Don’t I earn money too?” Marina asked quietly. Everyone turned. The room fell silent. “Sorry, dear?” Mrs. Newton said, baffled. “I said – don’t I earn money too?” Marina repeated, louder. Max frowned: “Marina, what’s this about?” “About Aunt Gal’s words – ‘The man earns, he deserves a break.’ Well, what about me?” The guests exchanged glances. Nobody saw this coming. “Well, you do earn, of course…” the woman in the suit said gently. “But it’s different.” “How is it different?” “Well,” she hesitated. “You’re a consultant. Max is a project manager – more responsibility.” “I see. So my job isn’t really a job? And the housework’s still mine. So I work at the office and at home. Max just works in the office, but he’s the one who gets to rest.” A heavy silence settled. “Marina, what are you saying?” Max asked, annoyed. “I’m saying,” Marina put the bucket on the table, “I spent two days preparing for this party. Shopping, cooking, decorating. And today I’ve been working non-stop. Yet not even a seat at the table for me.” “We didn’t mean—” Mrs. Newton tried to explain. “We just miscalculated.” “Miscalculated,” Marina agreed. “Didn’t think about me. Because I’m just staff here.” “Marina!” Max snapped. “Stop it!” “Stop what? Speaking the truth?” “Calm down, Marina,” a guest urged. “Just nerves.” “Enough of this show!” Mrs. Newton scolded. “Distracting people with drama!” “But it’s fine to discuss my family life with everyone? Fine to mention I haven’t had kids, fine to talk about Max’s exes?” Mrs. Newton paled. “I didn’t mean to—” “You talked about Jenny. You said good thing she left because she had opinions. And everyone agreed – good thing Max’s wife is so convenient now.” Marina looked at each person. “You know what? Jenny was right! She shouldn’t have let herself become a free helper!” “What are you talking about?” Max got to his feet. “What helper?!” “Know what I wished for today?” Marina continued, quietly. “I wished you’d say, ‘Meet my wife. She works in a bank, she’s clever and talented.’ Instead everyone said, ‘So handy. So docile. Just right for family life.’” “Marina, come on now,” Max began. “Come on? What – because you were silent! Silent when your mum called me convenient, silent when Aunt Gal lectured about a wife’s place, silent while everyone poked into my life!” Her voice shook. Tears that she’d been fighting all evening finally came. “You know what? I’m tired of being convenient!” Marina wiped her eyes. “Sorry for ruining your party. But I’m done playing the ideal daughter-in-law.” She headed for the door. “Marina, wait!” Max shouted. “Where are you going?” “On the balcony. For fresh air,” she said plainly, not stopping. “You can keep celebrating. Just without your waitstaff.” The balcony door closed. Behind it, muffled voices and music continued. Here, under the English night sky, Marina could finally be herself. She cried. Marina stayed on the balcony for more than an hour. First crying – from hurt, shame, relief. Then she dried her tears and watched the lights of London. Inside, voices continued, quieter now: Max and Mrs. Newton. “I don’t understand what’s come over her!” Mrs. Newton exclaimed. “To do that in front of everyone!” “Mum, maybe she’s got a point,” Max replied, unsure. “A point?! She shouted at her elders! Ruined our party!” Marina listened. “She did work all day, though.” “So what? In my youth, I worked too! Didn’t complain! Family means work, Max. Women must know their place.” Marina smiled bitterly. Even after everything, Mrs. Newton hadn’t understood. “Still—” “No ‘still’! You need a firm talk. Explain to her how a wife must behave. Or she’ll really get out of hand.” Marina opened the door and entered. Max and Mrs. Newton were amid dirty dishes. “A firm talk is a good idea,” Marina said calmly. They jumped. “Marina, dear,” Mrs. Newton started in a cajoling tone. “Don’t take it so to heart, we didn’t mean—” “I know,” Marina nodded. “You’re just not used to me speaking up.” “Let’s talk about it at home,” Max pleaded. “No. What started here, ends here.” Marina sat in a guest’s chair. “Max, I’m going to my parents’ tomorrow. For a week. I need to think.” “What is there to think about?” Max sounded panicked. “Whether I want to live in a family where I’m not valued.” “Don’t be dramatic, Marina.” “It’s not drama,” she said quietly. “It’s a choice. Either things change, or I change my life.” Mrs. Newton scoffed: “Young people! Straight to ultimatums!” “Max, if you care about our marriage – think it over. Not about how to ‘put me in my place’ but about why your wife cried on the balcony while your mother received congratulations.” A week later, Max came to Marina’s parents’ kitchen, nervously twisting his wedding ring. “Marina, please come home. Things will change.” Marina looked at him for a long moment. “Alright. We’ll try.” She never cried at family parties again. Because she’d learned to stand up for her right to respect.

Your wifes getting rather out of hand. You need to explain how she ought to behave, lectured Maxs mother.

La vida

I Never Imagined That One Innocent Prank Would Destroy My Marriage Before It Even Began—It Was Supposed to Be the Perfect Night After Months of Stress and Planning, But When I Tried to Surprise My New Husband in Our London Hotel Suite, I Overheard a Conversation That Froze My Blood and Uncovered a Cold-Blooded Betrayal Over My Family’s Investment Fund—That Night I Lost Everything, But Discovered a Power in Myself I Never Knew Existed and Took the First Steps Toward Freedom—If One Night Changed Everything You Believed About Love, What Would You Do?

I never imagined that a harmless joke could destroy my marriage before it even truly began.

La vida

My Husband Was Supporting His Ex with Our Money – So I Gave Him an Ultimatum From the very beginning, I knew about his ex-wife. He never hid the fact that he’d been married before, had a daughter, and paid child support every month. I even thought it was right — admirable, actually. I respected him for being responsible. But, slowly, I realised something more alarming: What I saw as responsibility was actually a painful sense of guilt. Chronic, exhausting, relentless. Guilt that hung over him like an invisible cloud… and someone knew exactly how to take advantage. The monthly payments went out regularly. The sums were decent. But alongside those, there was a whole world of “extras”. A new laptop for school because the old one was slow and all the kids had nicer ones. My husband sighed… and bought it. An expensive spot on a language camp, because otherwise his daughter might fall behind her classmates. Again, he agreed — even though the cost was as much as our entire summer holiday. New Year’s presents, birthday gifts, a treat for no reason, the poshest, most expensive, most dazzling. Because “Dads should always be generous.” His ex-wife knew exactly how to play him. She would call, using that faintly suffering tone: “She’ll be so upset… you understand? I can’t manage on my own.” And he understood. He understood so intensely he stopped seeing reality around him. The reality he shared with me — the one with our plans, dreams, and future together. But the money for that future was dripping away, bit by bit, into a past that refused to leave. I tried to reason with him. “Don’t you think this is too much? She has everything. Meanwhile, we’ve gone two months without a washing machine. Wake up…” He looked at me, guilty. “She’s just a child… I can’t say no. They say these years are tough. I have to support her.” “But what about my self-worth? Our life?” I asked, sharper now. He looked confused. “What, are you jealous? Of a child?” It wasn’t jealousy. It was fairness. We were living in a constant state of emergency — always funding someone else’s “urgent need,” which never seemed to end. Our washing machine had been dying for ages. It rattled, jumped, stopped mid-cycle. I dreamed of a normal, quiet one. I’d put money aside from my salary, found one on sale, set a day to buy it. I could already imagine loading the laundry and not worrying about it breaking down. That morning, he was strangely silent, pacing, as if looking for something on the floor. Just as I was about to grab my purse, he said, “I… took the money… for the washing machine.” My fingers went cold. “You did? Where did you take it?” “For my daughter. It was urgent… dental work. My ex called late, panicked, said the child was in agony and needed a private specialist, which was really expensive… I couldn’t say no…” I leaned against the door frame. “And… is she cured now?” “Yes, yes!” he brightened, as if the worst was over. “It all went great. They said it went perfectly.” I looked at him for several seconds and quietly said, “Call her now.” “What? Why?” “Call her. Ask how your daughter is… and which tooth hurt most.” He frowned, but dialled. The conversation was brief. As he listened, I watched his face change – from confidence to discomfort. He hung up. “Well… she’s fine now. The pain’s gone.” “Which tooth?” I repeated. “It doesn’t matter…” “Which tooth?” My voice sounded harsh, almost unfamiliar. He sighed. “They said… actually, it wasn’t pain. It was planned. Whitening treatment. Apparently, it’s allowed at that age. She’d been waiting for it all year…” At that moment, I just turned and sat down on the kitchen chair. The money for our normal life… had gone toward teeth whitening, just because someone decided it was ‘necessary’. And the worst bit? He hadn’t even wondered. Hadn’t double-checked. Just handed it over. Because guilt makes you a lousy judge… but a great target for emotional blackmail. Afterwards, a frozen silence settled over our home. I barely spoke to him. He tried to “make it up” with little gestures, but it was like sticking a plaster on a gaping wound. I finally understood – I wasn’t fighting his ex-wife. I was fighting the ghost he carried inside. The ghost of a failed marriage. The constant belief that he “hadn’t done enough.” That he “had to make up for it.” That ghost was always hungry. It demanded fresh sacrifices: money, time, nerves, dignity. The breaking point came at his daughter’s birthday. Despite my feelings, I bought a nice, thoughtful, but modest book – one she’d mentioned wanting. The impressive gifts were from “mum and dad”: a new phone, the sort only the richest kids have. His ex was dressed magazine-style. She greeted guests like a hostess. Smiled sweetly… but was sharp as a blade. When gift time arrived, and his daughter picked up my book, the ex announced loudly, to the whole room, “There you go, darling – those who really love you give what you dream of,” pointing to the shiny present. “And this…” nodding scornfully at my book, “is just from some ‘auntie’. Just… for show.” The room froze. All eyes turned to me. Then to my husband. And he… said nothing. Didn’t defend me. Didn’t correct her. He did absolutely nothing. He stared at the floor. At his plate. Deep down somewhere. Shrunk, hunched, as if hoping to disappear. His silence was louder than a slap. It was agreement. I endured the party with a stony face. Smiled, nodded… but inside, something was finished. Not a crisis. Not a pause. The end. When we got home, I didn’t make a scene. Scenes are for people still fighting. I went to the bedroom, took the old dusty suitcase from the top of the wardrobe – the one my husband brought when he moved in. And started packing his clothes. Slowly. Methodically. No trembling. Shirts. Trousers. Socks. All arranged. He heard, entered, and froze when he saw the suitcase. “What are you doing?” “I’m helping you pack,” I said calmly. “What? Where am I supposed to go? Is this about today? She’s always like that…” “It’s not about her,” I interrupted. “It’s about you.” I packed the last item. “You live in the past. Every penny, every thought, every silence – is stuck back there. But I live in the present. In a present where we can’t afford a washing machine because you spend money on someone’s teeth-whitening whims. In a present where I’m humiliated in public and my husband stares at the floor.” I zipped the suitcase, stood it up. Looked him in the eye. “Go on. Go to her. Help with everything: teeth, tutoring, her endless dramas and manipulations. Atone for your guilt if you must. But do it there, not here. Make space.” “What space?” “The space for a husband in my life. Right now, that’s occupied – by the ghost of another woman. And I’m done sharing my bed, my money, and my future with him.” I carried the suitcase to the front door and left it there. He picked it up… and left. I didn’t look back. For the first time in ages, I felt the air was mine. That my home was mine. That my soul finally had space for itself. Two months later, our marriage was officially over.

My husband was supporting his ex-wife with our moneyand I finally gave him an ultimatum. I knew about

La vida

I Cared for Him for Eight Years, Yet No One Ever Thanked Me

Ive been looking after him for eight whole years, and nobody ever bothered to thank me. You know how

La vida

My Mother-in-Law Planned a Makeover of My Kitchen While I Was at Work

Emily Clarke is fuming as she watches the kitchen being turned inside out while shes at work.

La vida

“I’ll Be Staying With You for a While,” Announced My Mother-in-Law — But Natasha’s Response Left Her Speechless

Ill have to stay with you for a while, declared my mother-in-law. Natashas response left her speechless.

La vida

Long-Awaited Happiness: Victoria’s Twelve-Year Journey to Motherhood, an Unforgettable Encounter at the Orphanage Fence, and the Miracle That Completed Her Loving Family

LONG-AWAITED JOY The day was bathed in sunshine and Alice felt happiness burst inside her chest like

La vida

“Your Wife Is Getting Out of Hand—Explain Proper Behaviour to Her,” Maxim’s Mum Scolded Him

Your wifes getting far too uppity. You need to teach her how to behave, lectured Mrs. Thompson as she

La vida

Caught My Sister-in-Law Trying on My Clothes Without Asking

I caught my sisterinlaw measuring my clothes without asking. Simon, please no overnight stays.

La vida

— I’ll Be Moving in With You for a While, — Announced My Mother-in-Law. Natasha’s Response Left Her Speechless

Ill have to live with you for a while, declared Margaret, mother-in-law. Emilys reply shocked her.