When Emilys mother-in-law found out we were planning to buy a flat, she called her son aside for a chat. What happened next left me utterly stunned.
My husband and I had been saving for our own home for years. Working for an international company, I earned twice as much as he did, but we shared everything fairlyjoint budget, shared goals. The dream of owning our place united us, and it seemed nothing could stand in our way. Until his family caught wind of it.
My husband had four sisters. In that family, he wasnt just a brother but the pillar, the supporter, the one who solved everyones problems. Since his youth, he had helped each of themsometimes paying for their education, other times buying them phones, or simply “lending money till payday,” though the money never came back. I saw it all, stayed quiet, endured it. I understoodfamily comes first. Sometimes I even sent money to my own parents. But because of this “help,” our path to buying a home stretched nearly three years longer.
Finally, when wed saved enough, we began house-hunting. I did most of the searchingmy husband was swamped with work, coming home late. I was glad to handle things, eager to find the best option for us both.
Then his mother invited us to a celebrationhis youngest sister had finished school. We went, had dinner, and suddenly, his mother started the conversation:
“Looks like my son will soon move into his own flat Wont have to walk far to visit,” she said with a smile.
My husband proudly announced we were already looking and that I was handling the search.
You should have seen how her expression changed in an instant. The smile vanished. She measured me with a cold stare and said in a frosty tone:
“Of course, thats nice But you shouldve asked me, son. Ive lived a life, I know better. Did you really leave such an important task to your wife?”
The eldest sister chimed in:
“Exactly. Your wife is selfish. Only thinks of herself. Not a single penny to help us. Her flat matters more than family!”
I nearly choked on my food at the sheer shamelessness of it. I wanted to say everything on my mindif they needed money so badly, they could earn it themselves. But I held back. I just kept eating, silent, refusing to engage in the nonsense. I couldve fallen off my chair. A blow like that at a celebratory dinner was the last thing I expected.
Then his mother stood, grabbed his arm, and dragged him to the kitchen. “We need to talk,” she tossed over her shoulder. At the table, the middle sister suddenly declared:
“My brother and I will live in his new flat. Well have our own room.”
Rage burned through me so fiercely my cheeks pulsed. Without another word, I stood and walked to the hallway. No need to gather anythingwe left by taxi.
That evening, I tried talking to my husband at home. But he was a stranger. He sat in silence, and in the end, I realisedfrom that day on, he wasnt my husband anymore. Just his mothers son.
Sometimes, love isnt enough when loyalty is divided. A home built on sacrifice should never demand more than it gives.
