My daughterinlaw is pushing to sell my flat to fund her sons house: I refuse to end my days under a bridge.
My heart is torn between pain and fear. My daughterinlaw wants to strip me of the home I have treasured all my life so she can fulfill my sons dream. Their plans for a grand family nest feel like a sentence, and Ian aging woman living alonedread ending up roofless. This tale touches on filial love, betrayal, and the struggle to keep ones own piece of life in a world that increasingly feels alien.
My name is Élodie Lefebvre, and I live in a small town in southern Provence. Ten years ago my son, Julien, married Amélie. Since then they have been crammed together with their daughter in a modest tworoom apartment. Seven years ago Julien bought a plot of land and began building a house. The first year nothing happened. In the second year they erected a fence and poured the foundations, then the work stalled again for lack of money. Julien saved patiently for materials, never losing hope. Over the years they raised the first floor, but they still dream of a twostorey home where I could also be welcomed. My son is a family man, and I have always been proud of his devotion.
They have already sacrificed so much for the construction. Amélie persuaded Julien to sell their threeroom flat, move into a smaller place, and invest the difference in the house. Now they live cramped, yet they do not give up. Whenever they visit me, every conversation turns to their future home: windows, insulation, electricity My health worries and anxieties seem to matter little to them. I stay quiet, listen, while a lowgrade anxiety grows inside me. For a long time I have sensed that Amélie and Julien intend to sell my threeroom flat to finish the work.
One day Julien said, Mom, well all live together in that big house you, us, and our little one. I dared to ask, So I have to sell my apartment? They nodded, speaking excitedly about the joy of sharing a roof. But when I saw the cold look in Amélie’s eyes, I understood: I would never live under her authority. She does not hide her dislike, and I am tired of pretending everything is fine. Her icy stare, her sharp wordsthis is not what I want at my age.
I want to help my son. It breaks me to watch him struggle on that site, which could still take ten more years. Yet I asked the question that has been gnawing at me: Where would I go? Move into their tiny dwelling? Live in that unfinished house, without comfort? Amélie immediately replied, Youll be perfectly fine in the countryside! We own a small holiday cottagea dilapidated building with no heating, usable only in summer. I enjoy the warm days there, but in winter? Heating with wood, bathing in a basin, stepping out into the frost to use the toilet? My rheumatism and health would not survive.
People in the country live like that, Amélie declared. Yes, they live, but not under such conditions! I refuse to turn my twilight years into a battle for survival. Still, money is lacking for the construction, and I feel my daughterinlaw pushing me toward the abyss. Recently I overheard her on the phone with her mother: We have to move her into the neighbors place and sell her flat, she whispered. My blood ran cold. The neighbor, Louis Morel, is a solitary old man like me. We sometimes share tea and chat, and I bring him pastries. But living under his roof? That is her schemeto get rid of me while taking my home.
I knew Amélie did not want to share a house with me, but this level of treachery I do not believe their promise of a happy shared roof. Her words are lies meant to force me to sell. I love Julien, and his distress pains me, yet I cannot sacrifice my own home. It is all I have left. Without it, I would be abandoned like an old, useless piece of furniture. And if their building drags on for years, leaving me homeless? Or forced into that cold cottage where winter would be a sentence?
Every night I lie awake, consumed by my thoughts. Helping my son feels like my duty, but ending up without shelter is an unbearable price. Amélie sees me only as an obstacle, and her plot with the neighbour feels like a dagger in the back. I fear losing not just my house but also my son if I refuse. Still, the terror of ending up under a bridge, stripped of my last refuge, is stronger. I do not know which path will let me stay true to both my child and myself. My soul cries out in pain, and I pray the heavens grant me the strength to choose rightly.
My Daughter-in-Law Pressures Me to Sell My Flat to Fund Her Son’s House: I Refuse to End My Days Living Under a Bridge.
