**Diary Entry**
When my mother-in-law found out we were buying a flat, she took my husband aside for a talk. What happened next left me speechless.
My husband and I had been saving for years to own our home. I worked a stable job at an international firm, earning twice his salary, but at home, everything was equalshared budgets, shared goals. The dream of our own place kept us united, and it felt like nothing could stand in our way. Until his family found out.
My husband had four sisters. In their family, a man wasnt just a brotherhe was the provider, the rescuer, the one who fixed every problem. Since he was young, hed helped each of them: paying for their education, buying them phones, lending them his entire paycheckloans never repaid. I saw it, bit my tongue, 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 by nearly three years.
When we finally had enough, we began searching. I handled most of ithe worked late. I was happy to take charge, finding the perfect place for us both.
One day, his mother invited us to celebratethe youngest sister had finished secondary school. We went, had dinner, and midway through, his mother announced:
*»Soon, my son will move into his own flat Im tired of bouncing between houses.»*
Proudly, my husband mentioned we were already looking and that I was handling it all.
Her expression shifted instantly. The smile vanished. She fixed me with an icy glare and snipped:
*»How lovely But, son, you shouldve consulted me. Ive got experience. Are you really leaving something so important to your wifes whims?»*
His eldest sister chimed in: *»Exactly. Shes selfishonly 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, forcing myself to eat, stunned by the cruelty over dinner.
Then his mother stood, grabbed his arm, and dragged him to the kitchen. *»We need to talk,»* she muttered. The middle sister smirked: *»Well live with our brother in his new flat. Therell be rooms for us.»*
My pulse roared in my ears. I couldnt take itI left, didnt even gather my things. We took a taxi home.
That night, I tried talking to him, but he was distant. Quiet. Then, out of nowhere:
*»We should divorce.»*
*»What?»*
*»Its for the best. I need to think of my family my real family.»*
The next day, he moved out. Two weeks later, he demanded his half of our savings. I transferred it. No shouting. No humiliation. No tears. I cut my losses clean.
Months later, I bought a flat. In my name. With my money. It was hardevery penny counted, sacrifices madebut I did it. He, as I later heard, stayed with his mother. His sisters, predictably, split his share: one borrowed it, one demanded it, one begged for it. His dream of a home 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 commitment can save a relationship where only one builds while the rest tear it down.
