When my mother-in-law found out we were buying a flat, she pulled my husband aside for a chat. What happened next left me utterly gobsmacked.
My husband and I had been saving for years to get our own place. I had a stable job at an international firm and earned twice as much as he did, but at home, everything was equalshared budget, shared goals. Our dream of owning a flat kept us united, and it felt like nothing could stand in our way. Until his family got wind of it.
My husband had four sisters. In that family, a man wasnt just a brotherhe was the provider, the saviour, the one who fixed everything. Since he was young, hed helped each of them: paying for their studies, buying them phones, “lending” them his entire salaryloans that were never repaid. I noticed, bit my tongue, and carried on. I understoodthey were his blood, and family helps family. Even I sent money to my parents now and then. But those “favours” stretched our path to buying a flat by nearly three years.
When we finally saved enough, we started looking. Mostly mehe worked late. I was happy to take charge, picking the best option for both of us.
One day, his mother invited us to a celebrationthe youngest sister had finished secondary school. We went, had dinner, and right in the middle of the meal, my mother-in-law dropped this bombshell:
“Soon, my son will be moving into his own flat Im sick of bouncing between houses.”
Then my husband, beaming with pride, mentioned we were already hunting and that I was handling everything.
Her expression flipped like a switch. The smile vanished. She shot me an icy glare and snipped,
“How lovely But, darling, you shouldve consulted me. Ive got experience. Are you really leaving something this important to your wifes whims?”
The eldest sister chimed in:
“Exactly. Your wifes selfish. She only thinks of herself! Shes never helped us! Her precious flat matters more than family!”
I nearly choked on my roast. I wanted to snap backtell them if they wanted money, they could jolly well earn it themselves. But I stayed quiet, kept eating, refusing to take the bait. I was stunned. Who stabs someone mid-dinner?
Then my mother-in-law stood up, grabbed my husbands arm, and dragged him to the kitchen. “We need to talk,” she muttered on the way. Thats when the middle sister announced:
“Well be moving in with our brother in his new flat. Therell be a room for us.”
My temples throbbed. Id had enough. I stood and walked straight to the hallway. Didnt even bother grabbing my thingswe left in a cab.
That night, I tried talking to my husband, but he was distant. Silent. Then, out of nowhere:
“We should get divorced.”
“Excuse me?”
“Its for the best. I need to think of my family my real family.”
The next day, he packed his bags and left. Two weeks later, he called demanding “his half” of the savings. I transferred it. No shouting. No drama. No tears. Just cut my losses clean.
Months later, I bought a flat. In my name. With my money. It was toughevery penny counted, sacrifices were madebut I did it. Him? Last I heard, he was still living with his mum. His sisters, predictably, divvied up his share: one borrowed it, one demanded it, the third begged for it. His flat dream? Gone without a trace.
But thats not my story anymore. Mines a lesson. I learned that if a man wont cut the apron strings, hell never truly be yours. That if he lets others make your decisions, youre not a family. And no amount of money or commitment saves a relationship where only one builds while the rest tear down.
