**A Diary Entry**
“You have one month to leave my house!” declared my mother-in-law.
Life with Max had been smooth sailing—two years together, then the decision to marry. I’d always gotten on well with his mother, Margaret. She’d seemed kind, wise, someone whose advice I valued and whose opinions I respected. I thought myself incredibly lucky—she never interfered, never nagged, and her warmth had been a comfort.
Margaret covered the entire cost of our wedding. My own parents, struggling financially, could only manage modest contributions. The day was perfect, and I was certain a happy future awaited us. But before the wedding euphoria had even faded, she called us for a serious talk. Her words hit like a bolt from the blue.
“Children, I’ve done my duty,” she began, her tone icy and resolute. “I raised Max, paid for his education, helped him marry. Now you’re a family, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you have a month to move out. It’s time you learned to stand on your own feet. It won’t be easy at first, but you’ll manage—budget, figure things out. As for me… I’ve earned the right to finally live for myself.”
She paused, then continued, each word like a hammer blow:
“And don’t expect my help if grandchildren come. I’ve given everything to my son—I’ve no energy left for raising children. You’ll always be welcome here, but I’ll be a grandmother, not a babysitter. Don’t judge me harshly. You’ll understand when you reach my age.”
I stood there, stunned. A storm of emotions raged inside me—anger, hurt, confusion. How could she do this? Margaret would enjoy her spacious three-bedroom house in central Manchester, while Max and I scraped by in some rented flat, counting every penny. And the worst part? Max legally owned a share of that house! Why should he leave? And as for grandchildren—didn’t every grandmother dream of spoiling them? Ours, it seemed, was the exception.
I waited for Max to argue, to defend us—but instead, he agreed without protest. Immediately, he began browsing rental listings and hunting for extra work. I was furious. My parents couldn’t help, but why was Margaret, who’d always seemed so caring, suddenly so cold and selfish?
Every day, I replayed her words, and each time, they cut deeper. How could she toss us out so easily? Had all her kindness before the wedding been nothing but an act? I felt utterly betrayed, and the thought of starting from scratch filled me with dread. Max, on the other hand, was determined. He said this was our chance to prove we could make it—that we were a real family. But how could I think of the future when everything I’d relied on was crumbling?
