He invites me to his parents house, but I refuse to become their maid.
He wants me to move into the family home, yet I wont be the allpurpose servant for his clan.
My name is Élodie, Im twentysix. My husband Julien and I have been married for almost two years. We live in Lyon, in a small, cozy flat that I inherited from my grandmother. At first everything was fine: Julien liked staying at my place, it suited him perfectly. Then, out of the blue, he declared, Its time we move into my family house; theres room, and when we have kids itll be ideal.
Im not interested in that ideal under the same roof as his noisy family. I dont want to trade my home for a place ruled by patriarchal expectations and blind obedience. There, I wouldnt be his wife but unpaid labor.
I still recall my first visit to their countryside residence on the outskirtsat least 300m². It houses his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three children: the whole package. The moment I stepped into the foyer, they assigned me a role. Women belong in the kitchen, men in front of the TV. I hadnt even finished unpacking when his mother thrust a knife at me and ordered, Slice the salad. No please, no when youre ready, just a command.
During dinner I watched Camille scurry about, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Every remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I knew instantly this wasnt a life for me. Im not a compliant Camille, and I wont bend.
When we announced we were leaving, his mother shouted,
So whos going to wash the dishes?
I looked her straight in the eye and replied,
Guests clean up after themselves. Were guests, not employees.
Thats when things escalated. They called me ungrateful, insolent, a spoiled city girl. I listened calmly, thinking, here Ill never belong.
Julien stood by me that day. We left. For six months everything was quiet. He visited his family without me, and I managed. But now he brings up moving againfirst hints, then increasingly insistent.
There its family, its home, he repeats. Mom can help with the kids, youll get a break. Well rent out the flat, itll bring in income.
And my job? I asked. Im not abandoning everything to bury myself 40km from Lyon. What would I do there?
You wont need to work, he shrugged. Youll have a child, take care of the house, like everyone else. A woman belongs at home.
That was the final straw. Im a universityeducated woman with a career and ambitions. Im an editor, I love my work, I built everything on my own. And they tell me my place is behind the stove and the diapers, in a house where Ill be yelled at for an unwashed pot and taught how to make soup or give birth properly?
I know Julien is a product of his environment. In that world, sons carry on the line, and wives are outsiders who must stay silent and be grateful for being accepted. But Im not the type to swallow that. I endured his mothers humiliations, gritted my teeth when Théo mocked, Camille never complains! But enough is enough.
I said clearly,
Either we live apart, respectfully, or you go back to your family castle without me.
He took offense, accused me of tearing the family apart, said a son doesnt live on foreign territory. I dont care. My flat isnt foreign. My voice matters.
I dont want a divorce, but living with his clan? No way. If he wont drop the idea of moving next to his mother, Ill pack my suitcase first. Being alone is better than being secondbest to his family.
He Invites Me to His Parents’ House, but I Refuse to Be Their Maid
