My daughterinlaw is pushing to sell my flat to fund her sons house: I refuse to end my days beneath a bridge.
My heart is torn between anguish and fear. My daughterinlaw wants to strip me of the home I have loved all my life so her son can realize his dream. Their vision of a grand family nest feels like a sentence, and Ian aging woman alonedread being left roofless. This tale is about filial love, betrayal, and the struggle to keep ones own corner of life in a world that increasingly feels alien.
I am Élodie Lefebvre, living in a small town in southern Provence. Ten years ago my son Julien married Amélie. Since then they, with their daughter, have cramped into a modest tworoom apartment. Seven years ago Julien bought a plot and began building a house. The first year nothing happened. In the second year they erected a fence and poured the foundations, then work halted again for lack of money. Julien saved patiently for materials, never losing hope. Over the years they raised the first floor, yet they still dream of a twostorey residence 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 the construction. Amélie persuaded Julien to sell their threeroom flat, move into a smaller one, and invest the difference in the house. Now they live in cramped quarters but do not give up. Whenever they visit me, every conversation turns to their future home: windows, insulation, wiring My health worries and anxieties seem to mean nothing to them. I stay silent, listen, while a quiet dread grows inside me. For a long time I have sensed that Amélie and Julien want 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 bliss of sharing one roof. Yet, seeing Amélies cold stare, I realized I could never live under her rule. She hides no disdain, and I am 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 watch him struggle on that site, a project that could still take a decade. But I asked the question that gnaws at me: And where will I go? Move into their tiny dwelling? Into an unfinished house with no comfort? Amélie immediately replied, Youll be fine in the countryside! We own a small holiday cottagea old building without heating, livable only in summer. I enjoy the warm days there, but winter? Heating with wood, washing in a basin, braving the frost to use the bathroom? My rheumatism and frail health would not survive.
People in the countryside manage like that, Amélie declared. Yes, they manage, but not under such conditions! I refuse to turn my twilight years into a battle for survival. Yet funds are lacking for the build, and I feel my daughterinlaw driving 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, chat about life, and I bring him cakes. But moving under his roof? Thats her planto rid herself of me while appropriating my home.
I knew Amélie didnt want to live with me, but this level of treachery I dont trust their promise of shared happiness under one 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 house. It is all I have left. Without it, I would be discarded like an old, useless piece of furniture. What if their construction drags on for years, leaving me homeless? Or relegated to that cold cottage where winter would be a condemnation?
Each night I lie awake, consumed by thoughts. Helping my son feels like a duty, but ending up without shelter is an unbearable price. Amélie sees me only as an obstacle, and her scheme with the neighbor feels like a knife to the heart. I fear losing not only my home 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 to take that would betray neither my child nor myself. My soul cries out in pain, and I pray the heavens grant me the strength to choose rightly.
The Daughter-in-Law Demands I Sell My Flat to Fund Her Son’s House: I Refuse to End My Days Homeless.
