She dreams of freedom in retirement, and we no longer stand in her way.
My mother-in-law wanted a comfortable life after retiringnow, we no longer trouble her.
Sometimes life plays such strange tricks that its hard to tell where truth ends and cruel irony begins. I never imagined that after twelve years of living together under my mother-in-laws roof, when everything seemed settled and clear, our family would face a moral ultimatum: pay up or move out.
Back then, just after our wedding, Evelyn Whitaker offered my husband and me the chance to move into her spacious three-bedroom flat in the heart of London, while she happily settled into my modest studio in the suburbs. We were over the moonliving in the city centre, in good conditions, with my mother-in-laws blessingwhat more could a young couple ask for?
We invested our wedding money into renovations: from floor to ceiling, the flat was as good as new, with a modern kitchen, refurbished bathroom, fresh hardwood floors, and a slight reshuffling of the layout. Evelyn would visit, eyes shining as she admired the results. *”Your place looks wonderful!”*, *”Youve done such a good job!”*compliments poured in with every visit. In gratitude, we covered all her bills and rent. Relieved, she often thanked us, even saying her pension now allowed her to save a little. To be honest, we never regretted the arrangement all those years.
Then came the childrenfirst a boy, then a girl. With our growing family, we began dreaming of a proper home of our own. We saved up for something bigger, since a four-bedroom house was beyond our means. We hadnt mentioned it to Evelyn, hoping to settle things amicably when the time came.
Everything changed when she retired. The joy of freedom quickly turned to complaints: *”How am I supposed to live on such a measly pension?”*, *”This government doesnt care about retirees!”* We did what we couldgroceries, medicine, small favoursuntil one day, over tea, she dropped a bombshell that left my husband speechless.
*”Darling, you *are* living in my flat, after all. So, perhaps we should start discussing rent? Say £800 a month?”*
My husband was stunned. It took him a moment to process. Then he replied:
*”Mum, are you serious? We already pay your bills, your groceriesyour life costs you almost nothing. And now you want rent?”*
Her answer was final:
*”In that case, we swap back! I want my flat returned!”*
We understoodthis was blackmail. Blunt, shameless, and utterly ungrateful. But what she didnt know was that we already had enough for a deposit on our own place. We listened in silence, and that very evening, we decided enough was enough.
A few days later, we arrived with a pienot to apologise, but hoping she might reconsider. The moment the subject came up, she snapped:
*”So, do we have a deal? Or are you planning to crowd my place forever?”*
Our patience ran out.
*”Evelyn,”* I said calmly, *”we wont be crowding anywhere. You can have your flat back, and well take our independence.”*
*”And with what money, may I ask?”*
My husband cut in:
*”Well manage. Its no longer your concern. But remember, Mumthis was your choice. You wanted to live alone in your three-bedroom flat? Well, now you can.”*
Everything happened quickly. We found a house, took out a mortgage, dipped into our savings, and sold my studio to lower the payments. Three weeks later, our boxes were packed.
Now, Evelyn is back in her freshly renovated flatthe one she loved so much, until she realised shed be living there alone. These days, she complains to the neighbours about *”shoddy workmanship”* and *”ungrateful children,”* pays her own bills, carries her own shopping bags, and finally tastes the bitter reality of a retirement without help.
As for us, we live in a slightly tight four-bedroom homebut freely. Morally and physically. No more explanations, no fear of outbursts or new demands. Weve moved on.
As the saying goes: *”You reap what you sow.”* Except this time its not us paying the price.
