He Invites Me to His Parents’ Home, But I’m Not About to Become Their Maid

He invited me to stay with his parents, but I refused to become their maid.
He asked me to move into the family house, yet I wouldn’t be the allpurpose servant of his clan.
My name is Élodie, twentysix years old. My husband, Julien, and I have been married for almost two years. We live in Lyon, in a cozy little 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 itll be ideal.
I dont want that ideal life under the same roof as his noisy relatives. I dont want to trade my home for a place dominated by patriarchy and blind obedience. There I wouldnt be his wife, but free labor.
I still remember 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 livedthe full package. The moment I stepped into the hallway, my role was assigned: women to 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 whenever you like, just a command.
During dinner I watched Camille scurry around, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Every remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I knew instantly: that wasnt a life for me. Im not a compliant Camille, and I wont bend.
When we announced we were leaving, his mother shouted,
And who will do the dishes?
I looked her straight in the eye and replied,
Hosts clean up after guests. Were guests, not employees.
That set off a tirade. They called me 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 quiet. He visited his family without me, and I got used to it. Then he started bringing up the move againfirst hints, then increasing pressure.
There its family, its home, he would say. 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 going to quit and bury myself forty kilometres 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.
The final straw. Im a university graduate 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 shouted at for an unwashed pan and taught how to make soup or give birth properly?
I know Julien is a product of his environment. There, sons carry on the line and wives are outsiders who must stay quiet and be grateful for being accepted. But Im not the type to swallow poison. I endured his mothers humiliations. I clenched my teeth when Théo joked, Camille never complains! But enough is enough.
I told him plainly,
Either we live apart, 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? No way. If he doesnt abandon his plan to settle next to his mother, Ill pack my bags first. Being alone is better than being secondbest after his family.