My parents had just gifted us a flat—and my mother-in-law had already decided who should get it. She nearly cost us our home.
My mother-in-law always struck me as a strong-willed woman. Sharp, blunt, but not unkind. At least, not until she tried to uproot me and my husband… leaving us with nowhere to go. Our new flat—given to us by my parents—was to be handed over to her daughter and two grandchildren instead.
We’d been married two years, living in rented accommodation—hardly the time for a mortgage, what with the pandemic, uncertainty, everything up in the air. We scraped together savings, worked wherever we could, never asked either set of parents for help. We wanted to stand on our own feet.
When the market began to recover, we considered getting a mortgage—but my parents beat us to it. They bought us a flat. My father sold some land in the countryside, and my mum parted with an old inheritance from her aunt. They pooled everything, added a little more, and bought us a two-bedroom place in a decent part of town. It was a complete shock. I cried with happiness. My husband was over the moon. Slowly, we settled in.
My mother-in-law came to see it almost straight away. She walked through, eyes scanning the walls, nodding silently. Her only comment:
“Not bad.”
We weren’t offended. She was always reserved, especially when things happened without her input.
We decided to hold a housewarming after our holiday. We’d been dreaming of a seaside break—somewhere to unwind, reset, and start this new chapter. We booked a last-minute trip, but just before leaving, a problem came up: the sofa and armchairs we’d ordered were due for delivery three days after we’d left.
My parents were away at my aunt’s anniversary party, so the only option was to leave the keys with my mother-in-law and ask her to accept the delivery. I knew she’d probably poke around, but I wasn’t worried—we had nothing to hide.
How wrong I was.
When we returned ten days later, my sister-in-law was living there—with her husband and two children. I opened the door, and there she stood in the hallway, baby in her arms. The smell of frying food drifted from the kitchen, the TV blared in the living room. My heart nearly stopped.
My husband stared. “What’s going on?”
His sister flushed, flustered. “Mum said you’d agreed to let us move in. That you’d be renting somewhere else or staying with your parents. She said you’d offered!”
Turns out, it was all horribly simple. My mother-in-law had told her daughter:
“Your brother and I have sorted it. He’s giving you the flat. You need it more—two kids, schools nearby, your job. They’re not in a rush.”
My sister-in-law had tried to call, but we’d had no signal on holiday. She believed her mother and moved in—unpacked toys, brought pans, made it her own. In days, she’d turned our home into hers.
We stood there, stunned. My husband tried calling his mother—no answer. I said, “Let’s talk tonight. Calmly. We’ll fix this.”
My sister-in-law was distraught. She hadn’t known she’d been misled. She apologised, near tears. The kids were restless, crying. It was clear—she’d been tricked too.
That evening, her husband arrived, and we discussed what to do. They had nowhere else—no money for rent. We agreed:
“We’ll lend you the deposit. Stay here a week while we move in with my parents. Find somewhere—we’ll help you move.”
And that’s what we did. My parents were shocked but welcomed us warmly.
Days later, my mother-in-law finally picked up the phone. We asked, “Why did you do this?”
Her answer was brazen.
“What’s the issue? You got the flat for free. Can’t you spare it? No kids of your own, and she’s got two! Would’ve been a kind thing to do. I thought you were family.”
When we made it clear no one had ever agreed to this, she called us cruel, selfish. Said we were awful for turning out “a poor mother and her children.”
She hasn’t spoken to us since. Frankly, we’re not eager to mend things.
My sister-in-law and I are on good terms. She’s apologised many times—none of this was her doing. But my mother-in-law? She showed her true colours. And we learned: some people can’t be trusted.
This whole mess taught us a hard lesson. Even those closest to you can betray you—if they think they’ll get away with it.
