“You Can Live with Us—Why Bother with a Mortgage? Our House Will Be Yours One Day!” My Mother-in-Law Insisted My mother-in-law is determined to stop us from getting a mortgage. She wants us to move in and promises the house will eventually go to my husband, since he’s their only heir. But she’s only forty-five and my father-in-law’s forty-seven. My husband and I are both twenty-five, have good jobs, and can afford to rent—but I worry everyday squabbles will strain family ties. My husband’s parents keep urging us to live together. My own parents have a spacious three-bedroom home, but I don’t want to be a guest on someone else’s turf—especially not at my in-laws’ place. When lockdown hit, our landlord asked us to move out so her niece’s family could move in. With no time to find a new place, we wound up at my in-laws’. They welcomed us warmly, and my mother-in-law never bullied me, but she did constantly point out everything I was doing wrong. She’s different from my own mum. We’d always wanted a place of our own, but now seemed like the perfect moment to save more. As much as I wanted to move out, I realised renting again would mean saving for ages before buying. Although my in-laws don’t meddle, their routines and rules are so different from ours. My husband and I are always having to adjust, and it makes me feel out of place—even if it seems trivial. From day one, my mother-in-law banished me from the kitchen. That’s her realm, no exceptions. But I struggle with her cooking; she uses way too many spices and onions. It may sound petty, but it’s a real problem for me. When I tried cooking for myself, she took it personally, thinking I was criticising her homemaking. Every Friday, she deep cleans after work. My husband and I are exhausted after the week—we just want to crash. She’s hurt that she’s cleaning alone. When I asked why the big clean isn’t on Saturday or Sunday, she said weekends are for relaxing. These little things add up. What makes it bearable is knowing her attitude isn’t mean-spirited—it’s just how she does things, and that living there isn’t forever. My husband and I agreed not to tell our parents we were saving up for our own place. We paid half the bills, contributed to the shopping, and saved the rest. One day, the topic shifted to the new car his cousin bought. My father-in-law suggested we buy one too, but my husband said a house was the real priority. “How long will you have to save?” his father asked. My husband explained we’re saving for a mortgage deposit—not buying outright. “You can just live with us—why bother with a mortgage? The house will be yours anyway!” my mother-in-law said. We tried explaining our wish for independence, but my in-laws thought it was daft to pay the bank when we could live for free. Seeing she couldn’t sway us, my mother-in-law started urging us to focus on having kids instead of worrying about a mortgage. Day after day, we heard her arguments for living together. They didn’t work on me, but they started getting through to my husband—he even started agreeing with her. “We don’t need a mortgage. Mum’s right. Life is peaceful, no arguments. The house will be ours one day,” he told me. “Fifty years from now, maybe!” I snapped. After that, my husband became convinced his parents were already old and might soon need care. He said a mortgage was a form of slavery—it would be much harder to pay off, especially if I go on maternity leave. But I want my own home now—not to wait for my mother-in-law to pass away to finally be the lady of the house…

You can live with us. Why bother with a mortgage? Youll have our house anyway! chirped my mother-in-law over her third cup of tea.

For reasons unknown to me (possibly too much daytime TV), my mother-in-law is on a personal crusade to save us from the horrors of a mortgage. Apparently, if my husband and I simply settle in with her and my father-in-law, their lovely semi-detached will eventually fall into our laps like a lost sock in the laundry. The only catch is, shes a sprightly forty-five, and my father-in-law is an energetic forty-seven. Both regularly walk the dog and have a suspicious enthusiasm for Zumba classes.

My husband and I are both twenty-five, working hard, and earning just enough to rent our own place. Id rather not jeopardize our relationship with his side of the family by moving in and suddenly arguing over who left the milk out again.

His parents, however, are convinced that a multi-generational household is peak British happiness. My own parents have a roomy three-bedroom flat, room for everyone, but Id feel like a permanent houseguest, tiptoeing around their olive green carpet and wondering if Im allowed the last custard cream. Sharing a roof with my in-laws isnt exactly my cup of tea either.

When lockdown hit, our flats landlady decided to evict us to make space for her beloved niece and her brood. With the rental market as friendly as a parking inspector, we were forced to bunk at my in-laws. To be fair, they welcomed us with open arms and lots of homemade shepherds pie. My own mum didn’t terrorise me, but she did insist that everything I did, I did wrong. My mother-in-law, though, was another story.

We’d already toyed with the idea of a mortgage before all this, but living with my in-laws drove it home: nows the moment. If we stayed, we could save morebut I was keen to establish our own little nest, even if it meant sacrificing avocado toast for a decade.

The in-laws were pretty hands-off about our affairs, but their quirky routines made life interesting. We continually found ourselves bending to their traditionssuddenly, even tea bags had a schedule. It was no big drama, but, you know, mildly uncomfortable. Like wearing someone elses slippers.

Right from day one, my mother-in-law forbade me from touching anything in her kitchen. She declared it her domain, and the spice rack her castle. The trouble is, her idea of cooking involves so much onion, it could scare off every vampire north of Watford. The way she brandishes the cumin, youd think it was gold dust.

Some may say its trivial, but its honestly a real issue for me. The one time I tried whipping up supper myself, she got terribly miffed. She seemed to think I was staging a coup, ousting her as Queen of Home Economics.

Every Friday, my mother-in-law conducts what can only be described as a cleaning blitz. After work, she restarts the flat from top to bottom. We stumble in, knackered, dreaming of bed, while she huffs about being left to do all the dusting herself. I asked why Friday?! She informed me weekends were for resting, not battling dust mites. Honestly, I was starting to suspect she moonlights as Mrs Hinch.

These little quirks added up, but I comforted myself that at least she wasnt cruel, just set in her ways. And, crucially, this was a temporary setup.

My husband and I secretly resolved not to reveal our saving plan to either set of parents. Wed pay half the utilities and toss a bit towards the shopping, squirrelling away the rest for our own place. One day, we were chatting about my cousin-in-laws shiny new car, when father-in-law piped up: Time you two thought about your own wheels! My husband replied that, actually, a house was far more pressing.

How long do you need to save? asked father-in-law, eyebrows at high alert. My husband said we werent saving to buy, but just for a deposit for a mortgage.

You can live here! Why mess around with a mortgage? Youll get the house anyway! said my mother-in-law, turning extra rosy.

We explained we wanted our own home, but they declared that daftwhy throw extra pounds at the bank when the family home awaits? When mother-in-law realised cash wasnt persuasion enough, she pivoted to the Big Argument: You should be thinking about children, not mortgages!

And so each day, we endured more rehashed reasons for staying put. They didnt sway me, but my husband started to look convinced, eventually telling me his mum had a point. He announced:

We dont need a mortgage. Mums right. We live peacefully, no arguments. And when the time comes, the house will be ours.

In fifty years, maybewhen were in matching tracksuits and the garden gnome collections out of hand! I retorted.

After that conversation, my husband started worrying more about his parents advancing age and the prospect of caring for them. He said a mortgage would be a ball and chain, especially if I was on maternity leave.

But honestly, I want to be mistress of my own house nowtea towels and allnot sitting around waiting for the mother-in-law to pop her clogs.