When my mother-in-law found out we were buying a flat, she took my husband aside to talk. What happened next left me stunned.
My husband and I had been saving for years to have our own home. I worked for a stable international company, earning twice as much as him, but at home, everything was equalshared budget, shared goals. Our dream of owning a place kept us united, and it seemed nothing could stand in our way. Until his family found out.
My husband had four sisters. In that family, a man wasnt just a brotherhe was the provider, the rescuer, the one who solved every problem. Since he was young, hed helped each of them: paying for their education, buying them phones, “lending” them his entire salaryloans never repaid. I saw it, stayed quiet, endured it. I understood they were his blood, and family should help. Even I sent money to my parents sometimes. But those “favours” delayed our flat purchase by nearly three years.
When we finally saved enough, we started looking. Mostly mehe worked late. I was happy to organise it all, choosing the best option for us both.
One day, his mother invited us to a celebrationthe youngest sister had just finished secondary school. We went, had dinner, and midway through, my mother-in-law announced,
“Soon, my son will move into his own flat… Im tired of bouncing between houses.”
Then my husband, proud, mentioned we were already searching and that I was handling everything.
Her expression shifted instantly. The smile vanished. She shot me an icy glare and said sharply,
“How lovely… But, son, you shouldve consulted me. Ive got experience. Are you leaving something this important to your wifes whims?”
His eldest sister backed her up:
“Exactly. Your wifes selfish. She only thinks of herselfshes never helped us! Her precious flat matters more than family!”
I nearly choked. I wanted to snap back, tell them if they wanted money, they should work for it. But I said nothing. Kept eating, silent, refusing to engage. I was in shock. A knife through the heart, right at the dinner table.
Then my mother-in-law stood, grabbed my husbands arm, and dragged him to the kitchen. “We need to talk,” she muttered. Thats when the middle sister dropped the bombshell:
“Well live with our brother in his new flat. Therell be a room for us.”
My temples throbbed. I couldnt take itI got up and walked to the hallway. Didnt even gather my things; we left in a cab.
That night, I tried talking to my husband, but he was distant. Silent. Then, out of nowhere, he said,
“We should divorce.”
“What?”
“Its for the best. I need to think of my family… my real family.”
The next day, he moved out with his things. Two weeks later, he called demanding his “half” of the savings. I transferred itno shouting, no humiliation, no tears. Just cleanly severed.
Months later, I bought a flat. In my name. With my money. It was toughevery penny counted, sacrifices madebut I did it. He, as I later heard, stayed with his mum. His sisters, unsurprisingly, split his share: one borrowed it, one demanded it, one begged for it. 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.
