When my mother-in-law found out we were planning to buy a flat, she pulled my husband aside for a chat. What happened next left me stunned.
My husband and I had spent years saving for our own home. I worked for a stable international company, earning twice his salary, but at home, everything was equalshared budget, shared goals. The dream of our flat 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. From a young age, he helped each of them: paying for their education, buying them phones, «lending» them his entire salaryloans that were 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 so-called «favours» delayed our flat purchase by nearly three years.
When we finally saved enough, we started looking. I handled most of it; he worked late. I was happy to organise everything, to choose the best option for us both.
One day, his mother invited us to a celebrationthe youngest sister had finished school. We went, had dinner, and halfway through the meal, my mother-in-law announced:
«Soon, my son will move into his new flat Im tired of bouncing between houses.»
My husband, beaming with pride, mentioned we were already searching and that I was handling the arrangements.
Her expression darkened instantly. The smile vanished. She fixed me with an icy stare and said sharply:
«How lovely But, son, you shouldve consulted me. I have experience. Are you leaving something this important to your wifes whims?»
The eldest sister chimed in:
«Exactly. Your wife is selfish. She only thinks of herself! Shes never helped us! Her flat matters more than family!»
I nearly choked. I wanted to snap back, to tell them if they wanted money, they should earn it themselves. But I said nothing. I kept eating, silent, refusing to engage. I was in shock. I hadnt expected such a betrayal 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. The middle sister smirked:
«Well live with our brother in his new flat. Therell be a room for us.»
My pulse pounded in my temples. Id had enough. I stood and walked to the hallway. I didnt bother collecting my thingswe left in a taxi.
That night, I tried to talk to my husband, 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 simply cut my losses.
Months later, I bought a flat. In my name. With my money. It was hardevery penny counted, sacrifices were madebut I did it. He, as I later heard, moved back in with his mother. His sisters, predictably, split his share: one borrowed it, another demanded it, the third begged for it. His dream of a flat vanished without a trace.
But thats no longer my story. Mine is a lesson. I learned that if a man cant separate from his family, hell never truly be yours. If he lets others decide for you both, youre not a family. And no amount of money or commitment can save a relationship where only one builds while the rest tear down.
