**Diary Entry**
When my mother-in-law found out we were buying a flat, she took my husband aside 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 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.
He had four sisters. In that family, a man wasnt just a brotherhe was the provider, the saviour, the one who solved every problem. From a young age, he helped them all: paying for their education, buying them phones, lending them his entire salaryloans never repaid. I saw it, stayed quiet, bit my tongue. I understood they were his blood, and family helps. Even I sent money to my parents sometimes. But those favours stretched our path to buying a flat by nearly three years.
When we finally saved enough, we started looking. I did most of the workhe was always at the office late. I didnt mind, happy to plan, choosing the best option for us both.
One day, his mother invited us to celebrate his youngest sister finishing secondary school. We went, had dinner, and halfway through, my mother-in-law announced:
*Soon my son will move into his new flat Im tired of hopping from house to house.*
Proudly, my husband chimed in, saying we were already searching and that I was handling it all.
Her face changed instantly. The smile vanished. She fixed me with an icy glare and snapped:
*How lovely But, son, you shouldve asked me. Ive got experience. Are you leaving something so important to your wifes whims?*
His eldest sister backed her up:
*Exactly. Your wifes selfish. Only thinks of herself! Never helps 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 said nothing. Kept eating, silent, refusing to rise to it. I was in shock. A knife in the back at dinnerI never saw it coming.
Then my mother-in-law stood, grabbed my husbands arm, and marched 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 a room for us.*
My pulse pounded in my temples. I couldnt take itI got up and left for the hallway. Didnt even grab my things; we took a taxi home.
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 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, another demanded it, the third begged for it. His dream of a flat? Gone without a trace.
But thats not my story anymore. Mine is a lesson. I learned that if a man wont separate from his family, hell never be yours. That if he lets others decide for you both, youre not a family. And no amount of money or promises can save a relationship where only one builds while the rest tear down.
