He invited me to stay with his parents, but I refused to become their servant.
He offered me a place in the family home, yet I wouldnt serve as the allpurpose maid for 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 I inherited from my grandmother. At first everything was fine: Julien liked living in my place; it suited him perfectly. Then, out of the blue, he said, Its time we move into my family house; theres room, and when we have kids itll be ideal.
Im not willing to share that ideal 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 would be more a free laborer than a wife.
I still recall my first visit to their house. A large countryside home on the outskirts, at least 300m², where his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three children lived. The whole package. The moment I stepped into the entrance, my role was assigned: women to the kitchen, men in front of the TV. Before I even finished unpacking, his mother handed me a knife and commanded, Slice the salad. No please, no when youre ready. Just an order.
During dinner I watched Camille scurrying everywhere, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Every remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I knew instantly: that life wasnt for me. I wasnt going to be a compliant Camille.
When we announced we were leaving, his mother shouted, And whos going to do the dishes? I looked her straight in the eye and replied, The hosts clean up after the guests. Were guests, not employees.
Thats when things escalated. I was called ungrateful, insolent, a spoiled city girl. I listened calmly, thinking,here Ill never belong.
Julien stood by me that day. We left. For six months everything was quiet. He saw his family without me, and I managed. Then he started bringing up the move againfirst hints, then increasingly persistent.
Theres our family, thats home, he would say. Mom can help with the kids, youll get a break. Well rent out our flat, itll bring in income.
What about my job? I asked. Im not going to quit and 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 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 they tell me my place is behind the stove and the diapers, in a house where Ill be yelled at for an unwashed pot 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 one to swallow the bitter pills. I endured his mothers humiliations. I clamped my teeth when Théo mocked, Camille never complains! Now 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 breaking up the family, said a son doesnt live on foreign territory. I dont care. My apartment isnt foreign, and my voice matters.
I dont want a divorce, but living with his clan? No way. If he refuses to abandon his idea of moving next to his mother, Ill pack my bags first. Being alone is better than being secondstring to his family.
He Invites Me to His Parents’ Home, But I Refuse to Become Their Maid
