She dreamed of freedom in retirement, and we no longer stand in her way.
My mother-in-law wanted a comfortable life after retiringnow, we dont disturb her anymore.
Sometimes life plays such strange tricks that the line between truth and cruel irony blurs. I never imagined that after twelve years of living together under my mother-in-laws roof, when everything seemed steady and clear, our family would face a moral ultimatum: pay up or move out.
Back then, right after our wedding, Evelyn Harrington had 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 reshuffle of the layout. Evelyn would drop by to admire the results, her eyes gleaming. “Your place looks stunning!” or “Youve done such a lovely job!”compliments poured in with every visit. In return, we covered all her rental expenses. Relieved, she often thanked us, even mentioning how her pension allowed her to save a little. Honestly, all those years, we never regretted our arrangement.
Then came the childrenfirst a boy, then a girl. With a growing family, we began dreaming of a place of our own. We saved up for a bigger home because a four-bedroom house was out of reach. We hadnt mentioned it to Evelyn, hoping to handle things smoothly when the time came.
Everything changed when she retired. The joy of freedom quickly turned to complaints: “How is anyone supposed to live on a measly pension?” or “This government doesnt care about retirees!” We did what we couldgroceries, medicine, little favours here and there. Until one day, over tea, she dropped a bombshell that left my husband speechless.
“Darling, you *are* living in my flat, after all. So, how about we start discussing rent? Say £900 a month?”
My husband went quiet. It took him a moment to process. Then he replied,
“Mum, are you serious? Were already covering your bills, your shoppingyour life costs you almost nothing. And now you want rent from us?”
Her answer was firm:
“Then we swap back! I want my flat returned!”
We understoodit 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 shed reconsider. The moment the topic came up, she snapped:
“So, do we have a deal? Or are you planning to crowd my home forever?”
Our patience ran out.
“Evelyn,” I said calmly, “we wont be crowding anywhere. Youll have your flat back, and well have our independence.”
“And with what money, might I ask?”
My husband cut her off:
“Well manage. Its not your concern anymore. But remember, Mumyou made the choice. You wanted to live alone in your three-bedroom? Well, now you will.”
Everything happened quickly. We found a place, took out a mortgage, dipped into our savings, and sold my studio to reduce payments. Three weeks later, our boxes were packed.
Now, Evelyn is back in her renovated flatthe one she loved so much until she realised shed be living there alone. These days, she complains to the neighbours about the “shoddy work” and “ungrateful children,” pays her own bills, carries her own shopping, and finally tastes the bitterness of a retirement without help.
As for us, we live in a slightly cramped four-bedroom but freely. Morally and physically. No more explanations, no more fear of outbursts or fresh demands. Weve turned the page.
As the saying goes: “You reap what you sow.” Except this time its not us footing the bill.
