Three years ago, my motherinlaw threw us out of her home with our baby, and today shes bewildered that I refuse to speak to her.
Im thirty, living in Paris, raising my son and doing my best to build a stable life. Yet a lingering ache never fades, because three years prior a woman I considered family expelled us without a hint of remorse. Now she cant understand why I no longer address her, and shes actually offended by my silence.
Alexandre and I met during our first year of university. It was an instant connectionno parties, no games; everything turned serious almost immediately. Then, unexpectedly, I found out I was pregnant. Despite the birth control pill, the test showed two lines. Fear, panic, tears followed, but the idea of an abortion was unthinkable. Alexandre didnt run away; he proposed, and we married.
The problem was that we had nowhere to live. My parents reside near Lyon, and since I was seventeen Id been staying in a student residence in Paris. Alexandre, meanwhile, had been on his own for sixteen years: his mother, Élodie, after remarrying, moved to Bordeaux with her new husband, leaving the tworoom flat in Montreuil to her son. After our wedding she generously allowed us to occupy it.
At first everything went smoothly. We studied, held side jobs, and awaited our child. I handled the cleaning, cooking, and saved every cent. The tide turned when Élodie started visitingnot simply to chat, but to inspect. She opened cupboards, looked under the bed, even ran a finger along the window sill after removing her gloves. Pregnant, I scurried around with a mop to please her, but no matter how hard I tried, nothing was ever satisfactory.
Why isnt the towel centered? shed say. crumbs on the kitchen rug! Youre not a wife; youre a disaster! Her criticism never stopped.
When our son Matthieu was born, the harassment intensified. Exhausted from sleep deprivation and breastfeeding, she demanded surgicallevel cleanliness. I cleaned thoroughly three times a week, yet it never met her standards. One day she declared:
Ill be back in a week. If I see a single speck of dust, youre out!
I begged Alexandre to intervene. He tried, but Élodie was immovable. When she returned and discovered my untouched old boxes on the balconyitems that werent minethe explosion happened.
Pack your bags and go back to your parents! Alexandre, choose: stay with you or stay here.
Alexandre didnt betray me. He left with me for Lyon, and we lived with my parents. He rose at six, attended classes, took a parttime job, and returned late. I attempted to earn online, but the income was negligible. Money was scarce; we counted every euro and survived on egg noodles. Without my parents support we wouldnt have made it. Nor without each others love.
Gradually things improved. We earned our diplomas, secured employment, and rented an apartment in Paris. Matthieu grew up, and we finally became a real family. Yet the wound remained.
Élodie still lives alone. The flat she evicted us from stands empty. She calls Alexandre from time to time, asks about her grandson, requests photos. He replies politely, holding no grudge. I, however, do. To me it feels like a betrayal. She shattered our lives when we were most vulnerable, leaving us defenseless.
Its my apartment! I had the right! she insists.
Perhaps she had the legal right, but what about conscience? What about the heart? Where were they when we found ourselves at the station with a baby and two suitcases?
Im not a vengeful person, but I dont feel obliged to forgive. And I wont set foot in her life again.
Three Years Ago, My Mother-in-Law Kicked Us Out With Our Child – Now She’s Upset That I Won’t Speak to Her!
