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 buy our own home. I worked for a stable international company, earning twice as much as him, but at home, everything was equalshared budget, shared goals. Our dream of owning a place brought us closer, 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 that were never repaid. I saw it, bit my tongue, and 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 workhe was often stuck at the office. I was happy to handle it, choosing the best option for us both.
One day, his mother invited us to a celebration: the youngest sister had finished secondary school. We went, had dinner, and in the middle of 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, explained we were already searching and that I was handling everything.
Her expression darkened instantly. The smile vanished. She shot me an icy glare and said sharply,
*»How lovely But, son, you shouldve consulted me. I have experience. Are you leaving something so important up to your wifes whims?»*
His eldest sister chimed in,
*»Exactly. Your wife is 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 engage. I was in shock. A knife in the back at dinnerI hadnt seen it coming.
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 and said,
*»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 stood and walked to the hallway. I didnt bother collecting my things; we left in a taxi.
That night, I tried to talk to my husband, but he was distant. Silent. Then, out of nowhere, he said,
*»We should divorce.»*
*»What?»*
*»Its for the best. I have to think of my family my real family.»*
The next day, he left with his belongings. 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 toughI pinched every penny, sacrificed comfortsbut 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 vanished without a trace.
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 you build while others tear it down.
