**Diary Entry 12th May**
When my mother-in-law found out we were buying a flat, she took my husband aside for a talk. What happened next left me speechless.
My husband and I had been saving for years to own our home. I worked for a stable international firm, earning twice his salary, but at home, everything was equalshared budget, shared goals. Our dream of 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 every problem. Since he was young, hed helped each of them: paying for their education, buying them phones, lending his entire salaryloans never repaid. I saw it, bit my tongue, endured. I understood they were his blood, and help was expected. Even I sent money to my parents sometimes. But those favours stretched our path to the flat by nearly three years.
When we finally saved enough, we began searching. Mostly mehe worked late. I didnt mind organising it all, picking the best option for us both.
One day, his mother invited us to a celebrationthe youngest sister had finished college. We went, had dinner, and midway through, my mother-in-law dropped:
*”Soon my son will move into his new flat Im sick of bouncing between houses.”*
My husband, beaming, mentioned we were already looking and that I was handling it.
Her face darkened instantly. The smile vanished. She fixed me with an icy glare and snapped,
*”How nice But, son, you shouldve consulted me. Ive experience. Are you leaving something this important to your wifes whims?”*
His eldest sister chimed in:
*”Exactly. Your wifes selfish. Only thinks of herself! Shes never helped us! That flat matters more to her than family!”*
I nearly choked. I wanted to shout that if they wanted money, they should work. But I stayed silent, kept eating, refusing the bait. I was stunneda knife in the back over dinner.
Then my mother-in-law stood, grabbed my husbands arm, and dragged him to the kitchen. *”We need to talk,”* she muttered. The middle sister added,
*”Well live with our brother in his new flat. Therell be a room for us.”*
My temples throbbed. Id had enough. I stood and walked to the hallway. Didnt bother collecting my thingswe left by cab.
That night, I tried talking to him, but he was distant. Quiet. Then, abruptly, he said,
*”We should divorce.”*
*”What?”*
*”Its for the best. I need to think of my family my real family.”*
Next morning, 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. Just cut ties clean.
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, one demanded it, the third begged. His flat dream vanished.
But thats no longer my story. Mines 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 money or promises can save a relationship where only you build while the rest tear down.
