He invites me to stay with his parents, but I refuse to become their servant.
He asks me to move into the family home, yet 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 the blue, he declared, Its time we move into my family house; theres room, and when we have kids itll be ideal.
I have no desire for that ideal under the same roof as his noisy relatives. I dont want to trade my home for a place ruled by patriarchy and blind obedience. There I would not be his wife, but unpaid labor.
I still recall my first visit to their home. A large countryside house on the outskirts, at least 300m², inhabited by his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three children the whole package. The moment I stepped into the foyer, my role was assigned: women in the kitchen, men in front of the TV. I hadnt even finished unpacking when his mother handed me a knife and commanded, Slice the salad. No please, no when youre ready. Just an order.
During dinner I watched Camille scurry about, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Every comment was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I knew instantly that life like that wasnt for me. I wont become a compliant Camille, and I wont bend.
When we announced we were leaving, his mother shouted,
And whos going to wash the dishes?
I looked her straight in the eyes and replied,
Guests clean up after themselves. Were guests, not employees.
Thats when things erupted. I was called 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 lately hes brought up moving againfirst hints, then increasingly forceful.
There, its family, its home, he repeats. Mom will help with the kids, youll get a break. Well rent out our flat for extra income.
And my career? I countered. Im not quitting to bury myself 40km from Lyon. What would I do there?
You wont need to work, he shrugged. Youll have a child, tend the house, like everyone else. A woman belongs at home.
That was the final straw. Im a collegeeducated professional with ambitions. Im an editor, I love my job, I built everything on my own. And Im told my place is behind the stove and the diapers, in a house where Ill be scolded for an unwashed pot and taught how to soup or give birth properly?
I understand Julien is a product of his environment. Over there, sons carry on the line and wives are outsiders who must stay quiet and be grateful for admission. But Im not one to swallow that. I endured his mothers humiliation, clenched my teeth when Théo joked, Camille never complains! Yet now 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 soil. I dont care. My flat isnt foreign, and my voice matters.
I dont want a divorce. But living with his clan? No way. If he wont drop his plan to set me up next to his mother, Ill pack my bags first. Because being alone is better than being second place to his family.
He Invites Me to His Parents’ House, but I’m Not About to Become Their Maid
