We did not buy a home to share with my mother-in-law: I refused a three-bedroom house to avoid this nightmare.
My husband and I had long dreamed of owning our own place. We had secured a mortgage and even borrowed money from his mother. She was not wicked, but her meddling drove me to distraction. After her husband passed, she seemed determined to fuss over everyone, suffocating us with her attention. She had a spacious flat in central London, but I was adamant—better a cramped home of our own than living under her shadow.
We found a three-bedroom flat in a new development. One room was tiny, perfect for the walk-in wardrobe I had always wanted. But my mother-in-law, Margaret Whitaker, was furious. She insisted a wardrobe was ridiculous. “Where will guests sleep? What if family comes to visit?” she snapped, fixing me with a stern look. I knew at once—she meant herself. Lately, she lingered at our place late into the evening, as if reluctant to return to her empty flat. Her words were a warning: if we bought a three-bedroom, she would always be underfoot, or worse—move in for good.
I was not blind. I saw where this was headed. Margaret was lonely, and her concern had turned into suffocating control. She rang three times a day to “check in,” offered unsolicited advice, even tried dictating how we should furnish our home. I refused to share it with her! My husband, Edward, and I were buying a house to build our own lives, not to indulge her whims, no matter how “sweet” she pretended to be.
I laid down my terms—no three-bedroom. “I want your mother here for holidays, not every day,” I told Edward. “If she wants a guest room, she can have one in her own house.” He argued she only wished to be close, that she was growing older and alone. But I stood firm. I would not sacrifice my peace for her smothering “care.” Better to do without a wardrobe than turn our home into her annex.
If guests visited, they could sleep on an airbed. And if Margaret tried to stay overnight, I’d find a hundred reasons to send her home. This was our house, our life, and I would not let anyone—not even her—rob us of the right to be its masters.
