He invites me to stay with his parents, yet I refuse to become their servant. He wants me to move into the family house, but I wont be the allpurpose maid for his clan.
My name is Élodie, twentysix years old. My husband, Julien, and I have been married for almost two years. We live in Lyon, in a cozy little flat I inherited from my grandmother. At first everything was fine: Julien liked living at my place, it suited him perfectly. Then, out of nowhere, he blurted, Its time we move into my family home; theres space, 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 house ruled by patriarchy and blind obedience. There, I wouldnt be his wife but unpaid labor.
I remember my first visit to their place clearly. A large countryside house on the outskirts, at least 300m². Its occupied by his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three childrenthe whole package. As soon as I stepped into the entrance, my role was assigned: women in the kitchen, men in front of the TV. I hadnt even finished unloading my suitcase when his mother handed me a knife and ordered, Slice the salad. No please, no when youre ready. Just a command.
During dinner I watched Camille scurry around, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Every remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I knew instantly: this isnt a life for me. Im not a compliant Camille, and I wont bend.
When we announced we were leaving, his mother shouted, 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 calm. He saw his family without me, and I adjusted. But lately hes brought up moving againfirst hints, then increasingly insistent.
Over there its family, its home, he repeats. Mom can help with the kids, youll get a break. Well rent out our flat, itll bring in income.
What about my job? I asked. Im not going to quit and bury myself 40km from Lyon. What will I do there?
You wont need to work, he shrugged. Youll have a child, youll 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 now Im told 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. There, sons continue the line and wives are outsiders who must stay silent and be grateful for being accepted. But Im not one to swallow that. I endured his mothers humiliations. I clenched my teeth when Théo joked, Camille never complains! But enough is enough.
I told him plainly, Either we live separately, with respect, or you go back to your family castle without me.
He took offense, accused me of breaking up 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 give up his plan to move next to his mother, Ill pack my suitcase first. Being alone is better than being secondbest after his family.
He Invites Me to His Parents’ House, But I Refuse to Become Their Maid
