He invited me to stay with his parents, but I refused to become their servant.
He offered me a place in his family home, yet I wouldnt be the allpurpose maid 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 cozy little flat that I inherited from my grandmother. At first everything was fine: Julien liked living in my place, it suited him perfectly. Then, out of the blue, he announced, Its time we move into my family house; theres room, and when we have kids itll be ideal.
I have no desire to share that ideal under the same roof as his noisy relatives. I dont want to trade my home for a house where patriarchy and blind obedience rule. There I would not be his wife, but free labor.
I still recall my first visit to their home. A large countryside house on the outskirts, at least 300m², where his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three children liveda full package. As soon as I stepped into the entrance, my role was assigned: women in the kitchen, men in front of the TV. Before I even finished unpacking, his mother handed me a knife and ordered, Cut the salad. No please, no when youre ready, just a command.
During dinner I watched Camille dart around, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Each remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I knew instantly that life like that wasnt for me. I would not become a compliant Camille, and I would not bend.
When we announced our departure, his mother shouted,
Who will wash the dishes?
I looked her straight in the eye and replied,
The hosts clean up after the guests. Were guests, not employees.
That sparked a fight. I was called ingrate, insolent, a spoiled city girl. I listened calmly, thinking, this is a place where Ill never belong.
Julien stood by me that day. We left. For six months everything was quiet. He saw his family without me, and I accepted it. But now hes back to talking about moving. First subtle hints, then increasingly insistent.
There, its family, its home, he repeats. Mom will help with the children, youll get a break. Well rent out our flat; itll bring in income.
And my job? I retorted. Im not going to drop everything and bury myself 40km from Lyon. What would I do there?
You wont need to work, he shrugged. Youll have a child, youll tend the house, like everyone else. A woman belongs at home.
That was the final straw. I am a university graduate with a career and ambitions. Im an editor, I love my profession, I built everything on my own. And Im told my place is behind the stove and the diapers, in a house where Ill be yelled at for an unwashed pan and taught how to make soup or give birth correctly?
I understand Julien is a product of his environment. Over there, 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 poison. I endured his mothers humiliations. I gritted my teeth when Théo joked, Camille never complains! But enough is enough.
I told him plainly,
Either we live apart, with respect, or you go back to your family castle without me.
He took offense, accused me of breaking the family, said a son doesnt live on foreign territory. I dont care. My flat isnt foreign, and my voice matters.
I dont want a divorce, but living with his clan is out of the question. If he wont abandon his plan to settle next to his mother, Ill be the first to pack my suitcase. Being alone is better than being secondbest after his family.
