Three years ago, my motherinlaw threw us out of the house with our baby, and now shes offended that I wont speak to her.
Im thirty, living in Paris, raising my son and doing my best to build a stable life. Yet the hurt still lingers because, three years earlier, a woman I considered family evicted us without remorse, and today she cant understand why Ive cut off communicationshes even miffed about it.
I met Alexandre during our first year at university. It was instant loveno parties, no games, everything turned serious quickly. Then, unexpectedly, I became pregnant. Despite the 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 live near Lyon, and since I was seventeen Id been in a university residence in Paris. Alexandre had been on his own for sixteen years: his mother, Élodie, after remarrying, moved to Bordeaux with her new husband, leaving her tworoom Montreuil flat to her son. After we wed, she graciously allowed us to stay there.
At first everything seemed fine. We studied, worked parttime, awaited our child. I handled the housework, cooked, saved every cent. But everything fell apart when Élodie started visitingnot just to chat, but to inspect. She opened cupboards, looked under the bed, even ran a finger along the windowsill after removing her gloves. Pregnant, I scrambled around with a mop to please her, yet no matter how hard I tried, it never was enough.
Why isnt the towel centered? Crumbs on the kitchen rug! Youre not a wife, youre a disaster! her criticism never ceased.
When our son Matthieu was born, the pressure intensified. I was barely managing sleep and breastfeeding, yet she demanded surgical cleanliness. I cleaned thoroughly three times a week, but it never satisfied her. One day she declared:
Ill be back in a week. If I see even a speck of dust, youre out!
I begged Alexandre to talk to her. He tried, but Élodie was adamant. When she returned and saw her old boxes on the balconyboxes I hadnt touched because they werent mineshe exploded.
Pack your bags and go back to your parents! Alexandre will 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 small job, and returned late. I tried to earn money onlinehardly anything came in. Money was scarce; we counted every euro and survived on egg noodles. Without my parents wed have folded. Neither would we have without each others love.
Gradually things improved. We earned our diplomas, found jobs, rented an apartment in Paris. Matthieu grew up, and we became a real family. The wound, however, remained.
Élodie still lives alone. The flat she evicted us from is now empty. She calls Alexandre occasionally, asks about her grandson, requests photos. He answers politely, holds no grudge. I, however, still feel betrayed. She shattered our lives when we were most vulnerable, abandoning us defenseless.
Its my apartment! I had the right! she says.
Perhaps legally, yes. But morally? Where was her conscience when we arrived at the station with a baby and two suitcases?
Im not vindictive, but I dont have to forgive. And Ill never set foot in her world 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.
