She dreamed of freedom in retirement, and we no longer stand in her way.
My mother-in-law once craved a comfortable life after retiringnow, we no longer disturb her peace.
Life plays such cruel tricks that the line between truth and bitter irony blurs beyond recognition. Never in twelve years of living under her roof, when everything seemed settled and clear, did I imagine our family would face a moral ultimatum: pay up or get out.
Back then, fresh from our wedding, Evelyn Whitaker had generously offered my husband and me her spacious three-bedroom flat in the heart of London while she happily moved into my modest studio on the outskirts. We were over the moonwhat better start for a young couple than a central home, blessed by his mothers approval?
We poured our wedding savings into renovations: from floor to ceiling, the flat was transformedmodern kitchen, refurbished bathroom, gleaming hardwood floors, and a clever reshuffle of space. Evelyn would visit, eyes alight with approval. *”Its stunning!”* *”Youve done wonders!”*her praise never faltered. In gratitude, we covered all her bills. Relieved, shed often thank us, even admitting her pension stretched further now. And truthfully, all those years, we never regretted the arrangement.
Then came the childrenfirst a boy, then a girl. As our family grew, so did our longing for a place of our own. We saved diligently, knowing a four-bedroom was beyond reach. We kept it from Evelyn, hoping to handle things smoothly when the time came.
Everything shifted when she retired. The thrill of freedom soured into bitter complaints: *”How can anyone live on such a pittance?”* *”This government doesnt care about pensioners!”* We helped where we couldgroceries, prescriptions, odd favoursuntil, over tea, she dropped a bombshell that left my husband speechless.
*”Darling, you *are* living in my flat, after all. So, shall we discuss rent? Say eight hundred pounds a month?”*
My husband stared. The words took a moment to sink in. Then, flatly:
*”Mum. Are you serious? We already cover your bills, your shoppingyour life costs you nothing. And now you want *rent*?”*
Her reply was merciless.
*”Then we swap back! I want my flat returned!”*
We understoodthis was blackmail. Blatant, shameless, utterly ungrateful. What she didnt know? Wed already saved the deposit for our own place. We let her rant in silence, and that very night, we decided: no more.
Days later, we arrived with a pienot to apologise, but in one last hope shed reconsider. The moment we broached the subject, she snapped:
*”Well? Is it settled? Or will you keep crowding my home?”*
Our patience shattered.
*”Evelyn,”* I said coolly, *”we wont crowd anyone. Take back your flat. Were leaving.”*
*”With what money, pray tell?”*
My husband cut in.
*”Well manage. Not your concern. But rememberyou chose this. You wanted to live alone in your three-bedroom? Enjoy it.”*
It happened quickly. We found a house, secured a mortgage, drained our savings, and sold my studio to ease repayments. Three weeks later, the boxes were sealed.
Now, Evelyn lives alone in the flat *we* refurbishedthe one she adored until she realised solitude came with it. She complains to neighbours about *”shoddy workmanship”* and *”ungrateful children,”* pays her own bills, carries her shopping, and tastes the bitter reality of a retirement without help.
As for us? Our new home is tight but freemorally, physically. No more justifying ourselves, no fear of fresh demands. The chapters closed.
As the saying goes: *”You reap what you sow.”* Only this time it wasnt us paying the price.
