My daughterinlaw is pushing to sell my flat so she can finish building her sons house, and I wont let my last years end beneath a bridge.
My heart is torn between anguish and dread. She wants to strip me of the home I have treasured all my life in order to fulfill my grandsons dream. Their vision of a spacious family nest feels like a verdict, and Ian elderly woman alonefear being left roofless. This tale touches on filial love, betrayal, and the struggle to keep ones own corner of life in a world that grows ever stranger.
I am Élodie Lefebvre, living in a modest town in southern Provence. Ten years ago my son Julien married Amélie. Since then the couple, together with their daughter, have been crammed into a tiny tworoom apartment. Seven years ago Julien bought a plot and began constructing a house. The first year nothing happened; the second year they erected a fence and poured foundations, then the work halted again for lack of funds. Julien saved patiently for materials, never losing hope. Over the years they raised the first floor, yet they still dream of a twostory residence 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 much for this build. Amélie persuaded Julien to sell their threeroom flat, move into a smaller one, and pour the difference into the house. Now they live cramped, but they refuse to give up. Whenever they visit me, every conversation circles around the future home: windows, insulation, wiring My health worries and anxieties seem to slip past them. I stay silent, listen, while a deep unease swells inside me. For a long time I have sensed that Amélie and Julien intend to sell my threeroom flat to complete the construction.
One day Julien told me, 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 one roof. Yet when I caught Amélies cold stare, I realized I could never live under her rule. Her dislike is obvious, and Im tired of pretending everything is fine. Her icy glances, her sharp wordsthis is not what I want at my age.
I wish to help my son. It pains me to watch him struggle on a site that could still take a decade. But I asked the question that gnaws at me: Where will I go? Move into their tiny dwelling? Live in the unfinished house without comfort? Amélie answered immediately, Youll be fine out in the country! We own a small holiday cottagea dilapidated building without heating, usable only in summer. I enjoy the sunshine there, but in winter? Heating with wood, bathing in a basin, stepping out into the frost to use the toilet? My rheumatism and frail health would not survive.
People manage out there, Amélie declared. Yes, they survive, but not under such conditions! I refuse to turn my twilight years into a battle for survival. Yet the money for the build is missing, and I feel my daughterinlaw nudging me toward the abyss. Recently I overheard her on the phone with her mother: We have to move her to the neighbours place and sell her flat, she whispered. My blood ran cold. The neighbour, Louis Morel, is a solitary old man like me. We sometimes share tea and chat, and I bring him pastries. But moving under his roof? That is his planto get rid 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 a sale. I love Julien, and his distress breaks my heart, yet I cannot sacrifice my only home. It is all I have left. Without it I would be as useless as an old piece of furniture, abandoned. And if their construction drags on for years, will I end up on the street? Or in that icy cottage where winter would be a sentence?
Every night I lie awake, haunted by these thoughts. Helping my son feels like a duty, but losing my shelter is a price I cannot pay. Amélie sees me merely as an obstacle, and her scheme with the neighbour feels like a dagger in the back. I fear losing not only my house 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 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 for the strength to choose wisely.
The Daughter-in-Law Insists on Selling My Flat to Fund Her Son’s House: I Refuse to End Up Living Under a Bridge.
