I tidied up my mother-in-law’s house, but all I got were complaints.
It’s been a few years since Tom and I started dating. Our relationship moved slowly but steadily. He was caring, attentive—did everything to make me feel loved. Recently, he proposed, and I happily said yes. We dreamed of a future together, making plans like any couple in love, and it seemed nothing could go wrong.
While preparing for the wedding, his parents went on holiday and offered us their house. Tom loved the idea—said it’d be a chance to live together, experience real domestic life. I agreed, though I felt uneasy. Their home wasn’t mine, I barely knew his parents, and the responsibility weighed on me. But love outweighed the nerves.
At first, everything seemed perfect. I threw myself into housework—cooking, cleaning, making the place spotless. Tom rarely helped, believing his role was to provide while mine was to keep the home comfortable. I didn’t argue. He earned well, and it almost felt fair to handle the chores.
Everything changed when his parents returned.
I’d scrubbed the house from top to bottom—floors, windows, every speck of dust. I’d even baked a cake and made a full dinner, hoping to show them warmth and care. Instead of thanks, I got a slap in the face. Tom awkwardly told me his mum thought I was slovenly.
“You didn’t clean the loo or the bath properly,” he said. “And the kitchen looks like a bomb’s hit it. Oh, and your cake was inedible.”
It stung. I’d given my best effort, poured time and energy into making things perfect—only to be met with cold, nitpicking criticism. Any decent person would’ve thanked me, not hunted for flaws. It was clear she’d already made her mind up about me.
After that, Tom grew distant. He stopped talking about the wedding with the same excitement, stopped making plans. I started to wonder—could one woman’s opinion really undo everything?
What more could I possibly do to be accepted? Maybe I rushed into agreeing to marry him. If even my hardest efforts didn’t earn his mother’s respect, what awaited me after the wedding? Endless criticism? Humiliation? Fighting for my own fiancé’s attention?
Honestly, I regret acting like a housewife. I should’ve stayed a guest—done nothing, waited for them to return. Maybe then there’d have been nothing to complain about.
Before all this, Tom mentioned wanting us to live with his parents until we saved for our own place. Now? No chance. I won’t set foot in that house again. No respect means no reason for me to be there.
Now I’m at a crossroads—do I keep fighting for him and his family, sacrificing myself? Or do I walk away and ask: do I really want this? If they don’t respect me now, love won’t magically appear later.
Maybe it’s not me. Maybe I’m just trying to join a family that doesn’t want me.
