He invites me to stay with his parents, but I wont become their maid.
He asks me to move into the family house, yet I refuse to be the allpurpose servant for his clan.
My name is Élodie, I am twentysix. My husband, Julien, and I have been married for almost two years. We live in Lyon, in a small, cozy flat that 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 it will 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 patriarchal expectations and blind obedience. There I would cease to be his wife and become unpaid labor.
I can still picture my first visit to their house. A large country home on the outskirts, at least 300m², where his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three children all livethe whole package. The moment I stepped into the foyer, my role was assigned: women in the kitchen, men in front of the TV. I hadnt even finished unpacking when his mother handed me a knife and said, Slice the salad. No please, no when youre ready, just a command.
During dinner I watched Camille dart around, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Every remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I instantly knew this wasnt a life for me. Im not a compliant Camille, and I wont bend.
When we announced our departure, his mother shouted,
And whos going to do the dishes?
I looked her straight in the eye and replied,
Hosts clean up after guests. Were guests, not employees.
Thats when things escalated. I was called ungrateful, insolent, a spoiled city girl. I listened calmly, thinking, this is a place where Ill never belong.
Julien stood by me that day. We left. For six months everything was calm. He visited his family without me, and I managed. Lately, however, hes brought up moving againfirst hints, now persistent suggestions.
There its family, its home, he repeats. Mom can help with the kids, youll get a break. Well rent out our flat, itll bring in income.
And my job? I asked. Im not quitting to 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 collegeeducated professional with a career and ambitions. Im an editor, I love my work, I built everything on my own. And now Im told 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. Over there, sons carry on the line and wives are outsiders who must stay silent and be grateful for being allowed in. But Im not one to swallow that. I endured his mothers humiliations. I clenched my teeth when Théo laughed, Camille never complains! But enough is enough.
I told him plainly,
Either we live separately, with respect, or you go back to your family castle without me.
He took offense, accused me of tearing the family apart, 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 living with his clan is out of the question. If he refuses to drop his plan of moving next to his mother, Ill pack my suitcase first. Being alone is better than being secondbest after his family.
He’s Inviting Me to Meet His Parents, But I Refuse to Be Their Housemaid
