My daughterinlaw is pressing to sell my flat to fund her sons house, and I refuse to end my days under a bridge. My heart is torn between anguish and fear. She wants to take away the home I have loved all my life so her son can realize his dream. Their plans for a grand family nest feel like a sentence, and Ian aging woman alone dread being left without a roof. This tale is about filial love, betrayal, and the fight to keep my own corner of life in a world that increasingly feels foreign.
I am Élodie Lefebvre, living in a small town in southern Provence. Ten years ago my son Julien married Amélie. Since then they have crammed themselves and their daughter into a modest tworoom apartment. Seven years ago Julien bought a plot and began building a house. The first year nothing happened; the second they erected a fence and poured foundations, then work stopped again for lack of funds. Julien saved patiently for materials, never losing hope. Over the years they completed 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 dedication.
They have already sacrificed much for this construction. Amélie persuaded Julien to sell their threeroom apartment, move into a smaller one, and invest the difference in the house. Now they live cramped, yet they refuse to give up. Whenever they visit me, every conversation circles around their future home: windows, insulation, electricity My health worries and anxieties seem not to concern them. I stay silent, listen, but a dull dread grows inside me. For a long time Ive sensed that Amélie and Julien intend to sell my threeroom flat to finish the building.
One day Julien said, Mom, well all live together in that big house you, us, and the little one. I dared to ask, So I have to sell my flat? They nodded, speaking enthusiastically about the joy of sharing a roof. Yet, seeing Amélies cold stare, I realized I could never live under her authority. She hides no contempt, and Im tired of pretending everything is fine. Her icy glances, her sharp wordsthis is not what I want at my age.
I want to help my son. It breaks me to see him struggle on a site that might take another ten years. But I asked the question that haunts me: Where will I go? Move into their tiny dwelling? Live in that unfinished house without comfort? Amélie immediately replied, Youll be fine in the countryside! We have a small holiday cottagea old building with no heating, only livable in summer. I enjoy the warm days there, but in winter? Heating with wood, washing in a basin, stepping out into the frost to use the toilet? My rheumatism and frailty would not survive.
People in the country get by like that, Amélie declared. Yes, they survive, but not under such conditions! I refuse to turn my later years into a fight for survival. Yet the 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 to the neighbors house 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 cakes. But living under his roof? Thats her planto rid herself of me while taking my home.
I knew Amélie didnt want to live with me, but this level of treachery I dont believe their promise of shared happiness under one roof. Her words are lies meant to force me to sell. I love Julien, and his distress hurts me, but I cannot sacrifice my own house. It is all I have left. Without it I would be nothing, abandoned like an old useless piece of furniture. What if their building drags on for years, leaving me on the street? Or in that icy cottage where winter would be a sentence?
Each night I lie awake, tormented by thoughts. Helping my son is my duty, yet losing my shelter is a price too steep. Amélie sees me only as an obstacle, and her scheme with the neighbor feels like a stab. I fear losing not just my home but also my son if I refuse. Yet the terror of ending up under a bridge, deprived of my last refuge, is even stronger. I dont know which path to choose that wont betray either my child or myself. My soul cries out in pain, and I pray the heavens grant me the strength to decide rightly.
The Daughter-in-Law Presses for the Sale of My Flat to Fund Her Son’s Home: I Refuse to End My Days Living Under a Bridge.
