She invites me to stay with her parents, but I refuse to become their servant.
She asks me to move into the family house, yet I wont 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 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 announced, Its time we move into my family home; 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 patriarchy and blind obedience. There I would not be his wife, but free labor.
I clearly remember my first visit to their house. A large country home on the outskirts, at least 300m². Its occupied by his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three childrenthe whole package. The moment I stepped into the entrance, they assigned me a role. Women to the kitchen, men in front of the TV. I hadnt even finished unpacking 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 dart around, never daring to challenge her motherinlaw. Each remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I knew instantly: that life isnt for me. I wont be 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,
Hosts clean up after guests. 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 backed me that day. We left. For six months everything was quiet. He saw his family without me, and I managed. Then he started bringing up the move againfirst hints, then increasingly insistent.
There its family, its home, he would say. Mom can help with the kids, youll get a break. Well rent out our flat, itll bring in income.
And my job? I retorted. Im not going to quit and 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 last straw. Im a university graduate with a career and ambitions. Im an editor, I love my profession, 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 pan 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 to be 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 mutual 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 cohabiting with his clan? No way. If he doesnt drop his idea of moving next to his mother, Ill be the first to pack my bags. Being alone is better than being second place to his family.
