Three years ago, my motherinlaw threw us out, my child and I. Now shes upset that I refuse to speak to her.
Im thirty, living in Paris, raising my son and trying to build a stable life. Yet the hurt remains, because three years earlier a woman I considered family evicted us without remorse, and today she cant understand why I no longer talk to herindeed, shes offended.
Alexandre and I met during our first year at university. It was love at first sightno parties, no games; things quickly became serious. Then, unexpectedly, I found out I was pregnant. Despite using birth control, 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 since he was sixteen: his mother, Élodie, after remarrying, moved to Bordeaux with her new husband, leaving a tworoom flat in Montreuil to her son. After our wedding she graciously allowed us to stay there.
At first everything went smoothly. We studied, worked parttime, awaited our baby. I did the cleaning, cooking, saved every cent. Then Élodie started visitingnot just to chat, but to inspect. She opened cupboards, looked under the bed, removed her gloves to run a finger along the windowsill. Pregnant, I scurried around with a mop to please her, yet nothing I did was ever good enough.
Why isnt the towel centered? There are crumbs on the kitchen rug! Youre not a wife, youre a disaster!her criticism was relentless.
When our son Matthieu was born, things worsened. Exhausted from sleep deprivation and nursing, she demanded surgicallevel cleanliness. I deepcleaned three times a week, but it never sufficed. One day she declared:
Ill be back in a week. If I see a single speck of dust, youre out!
I begged Alexandre to speak with her. He tried, but Élodie was unmoving. When she returned and found her old boxes on the balconyboxes I hadnt touched because they werent minethe explosion happened.
Pack your bags and go back to your parents! Alexandre must choose: stay with you or stay here.
Alexandre didnt betray me. He left with me for Lyon, where we stayed with my parents. He rose at six, attended classes, took a small job, and returned late. I tried to earn money online, but the income was negligible. Money was tight; we counted every euro and survived on egg noodles. Without my parents help, we would have collapsed. Without our love, too.
Gradually things improved. We earned our diplomas, found steady jobs, rented an apartment in Paris. Matthieu grew up, and we became a real family. Yet the wound remained.
Élodie still lives alone. The flat she expelled us from sits empty. She calls Alexandre occasionally, asks about her grandson, requests photos. He replies, holds no grudge. I do. To me, it feels like a betrayal. She shattered our lives when we were at our most vulnerable, abandoning us defenseless.
Its my apartment! I had the right! she says.
Perhaps the legal right, yes. But the conscience? The heart? Where were they when we arrived at the station with a baby and two suitcases?
Im not vindictive, but Im not obligated to forgive. And I will never 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.
