**Diary Entry**
When my mother-in-law found out we were buying a flat, she whisked my husband away for a chat. What happened next left me stunned.
My husband and I had been saving for years to own our home. I worked for a stable international firm, earning twice his salary, but at home, everything was equalshared budget, shared goals. Our dream of owning a place kept us united, and it seemed nothing could stand in our way. Until his family found out.
My husband had four sisters. In that family, a man wasnt just a brotherhe was the provider, the rescuer, the one who solved every problem. Since he was young, hed helped each of them: paying for their education, buying them phones, «lending» them his entire salaryloans never repaid. I saw it, stayed quiet, endured it. I understood they were his blood, and family helps. Even I sent money to my parents sometimes. But those «favours» delayed our flat purchase by nearly three years.
When we finally saved enough, we started looking. I did most of the legwork; he worked late. I was happy to handle it all, picking the best option for us both.
Then his mother invited us to a celebrationthe youngest sister had finished secondary school. We went, had dinner, and in the middle of it, my mother-in-law dropped:
*»Soon my son will move into his new flat Im tired of bouncing between houses.»*
My husband, beaming, mentioned we were already searching and that I was sorting everything.
Her expression darkened instantly. The smile vanished. She shot me an icy glare and snipped:
*»How lovely But, son, you shouldve asked me. Ive got experience. Are you leaving something this important to your wifes whims?»*
His eldest sister chimed in:
*»Exactly. Your wifes selfish. Only thinks of herself! Shes never helped us! Her flat matters more than family!»*
I nearly choked. I wanted to snap back, tell them if they wanted money, they should work for it. But I stayed silent. Kept eating, refusing to rise to it. I was in shock. A knife in the back over dinner.
Then my mother-in-law stood, grabbed my husbands arm, and dragged him to the kitchen. *»We need to talk,»* she muttered as they passed. Then the middle sister announced:
*»Well live with our brother in his new flat. Therell be a room for us.»*
My temples pounded. I couldnt take it. I stood and walked to the hall. Didnt bother gathering my thingswe left by taxi.
That night, I tried talking to him, but he was distant. Silent. Then, abruptly, he said:
*»We should divorce.»*
*»What?»*
*»Its for the best. I need to think of my family my real family.»*
The next day, he left with his things. Two weeks later, he called demanding his «half» of the savings. I transferred it. No shouting. No humiliation. No tears. I just cut my losses.
Months later, I bought a flat. In my name. With my money. It was toughevery penny counted, sacrifices madebut I did it. He, as I later heard, stayed with his mum. His sisters, predictably, split his share: one borrowed it, one demanded it, the third begged for it. His dream of a flat vanished.
But thats no longer my story. Mine is a lesson. I learned that if a man wont separate from his family, hell never truly be yours. That if he lets others decide for you both, youre not a family. And no amount of money or promises will save a relationship where only you build while the rest tear down.
