I was pushing myself to the limit to afford the house of my dreams, and my husband’s family was barging in and acting like it was theirs without even telling me. But they overlooked one important fact: I was the one paying for this house, and I wasn’t about to let them dispose of it.
I worked endless hours. Extra shifts. Late nights. Almost no sleep.
Every penny put aside made me one step closer to my goal: a real home. A place where I could finally relax, where my kids could play in the backyard instead of being stuck in the tiny living room.
Jack, my husband, played his part, too. That was our deal. I earned money and he ran the household – cooking, cleaning, watching the kids.
But Jack didn’t do any of that.
More often than not, I’d walk into the house and find dirty dishes piled in a heap, toys scattered everywhere, and Jack glued to the sofa with a controller in his hands. His true passion? Video games. He could spend hours strategising a virtual battle, but he never bothered to start the dishwasher.
‘Baby, give me five more minutes,’ he’d mumble, never taking his eyes off the screen.
Five minutes turned into hours. So I did it all. Worked non-stop. Cleaned the house. Hired a nanny at my own expense because someone had to take care of the kids.
I was exhausted, but I didn’t stop. I had a dream.
And then, finally, it happened. I bought a house.
It wasn’t a huge estate, but it was just right. A spacious kitchen, hardwood floors, a backyard with a swing set already installed.
As I held the keys in my hands, something changed inside me. This wasn’t just a house. It was proof of every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every ounce of effort.
It was mine.
Jack barely reacted.
‘Nice,’ he muttered, looking at his phone. ‘What’s for dinner?’
I should have figured it out. But I was too happy to worry.
The morning of our housewarming party, I woke up feeling weightless. For once, stress wasn’t clinging to me.
The house smelled like fresh paint and vanilla scented candles. I spent the morning arranging snacks, putting flowers in vases, and making sure everything looked perfect.
It was a fresh start. A fresh start. Then the doorbell rang.
Jack’s parents. Uninvited.
His mother, Diane, entered first, scanning the house as if she were inspecting the flat.
‘Finally,’ she sighed. ‘It’s been a long time coming for you to move into a proper house. This flat was just unbearable.’
I forced myself to smile politely. ‘It’s good to see you too.’
His father, Harold, hummed. ‘Not bad.’ He tapped on the wall as if testing it for strength. ‘I hope you didn’t overpay.’
Jack remained seated on the couch, barely paying attention to them. He only intervened when necessary.
I was about to offer drinks when suddenly Diana clapped her hands together.
‘So,’ she turned to Harold, ’should we bring the stuff in now or later?’
I blinked. ‘What?’
She looked at me like I was procrastinating. ‘Our bags. Do we have to bring them in now?’
I frowned. ‘Why do you have to bring the bags in?’
Harold snorted derisively. ‘Oh, honey, don’t act like you didn’t know. Didn’t Jack explain it? In our family, when the youngest son buys a house, the parents move out. It’s always been that way.’
My stomach clenched. ‘Excuse me?’
Diane waved her hand dismissively. ‘We’ll take the master bedroom, of course. We need the space.’
‘What?’ My voice caught in my throat.
She continued as if she hadn’t destroyed my entire world. ‘We’ll need to repaint. This colour is awful. And the fridge isn’t big enough for all of us.’
I turned to Jack, expecting him to put an end to this. But he didn’t.
Instead, he shrugged. ‘Yeah, baby. That’s the way it goes. Stop reacting. It’s tradition.’
Tradition. Tradition?!
I wanted to flip the dining table over so the candles would crash to the floor. But I didn’t. I took a deep breath, forced myself to smile, and nodded.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Of course.’
Diana glared. ‘See? I told you she’d understand.’
I looked at Jack. He wasn’t even paying attention. His mother had spoken, so he assumed the discussion was over.
But it wasn’t. While they were busy making themselves at home, I was making my own plans. And they didn’t notice.
That night I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
Jack lay next to me, snoring like a man who wasn’t bothered by anything. As if he hadn’t just let his parents take over my house.
As if I didn’t matter. As if I was just a walking paycheck.
I thought about everything I’d sacrificed. The long nights. The endless shifts. Missed moments with my kids because I was too busy securing a better future.
For what?
For Jack to lie on the couch and wait for me to cook? For his mum to treat me like a stranger in my own home?
No. I wasn’t going to let them take what was mine. I’d given away too much.
I turned my head to Jack. He was sleeping peacefully, unaware that things were about to change.
I smiled. Tomorrow they would find out everything.
At dawn, I slipped out of bed without waking Jack and called.
‘Hi, I need to change the locks,’ I told the locksmith. ‘Today.’
‘Sure. What’s the address?’
I gave him all the details. Then I made the next call.
‘Good morning, this is the law firm of Carter & Lane. How can we help you?’
‘Hello, I want to file for divorce.’
By noon, the locksmith had finished the job. My house was truly mine again.
Jack was still asleep while I packed up his things. He only stirred when I started dragging his gaming chair into the garage.
‘What are you doing?’ – He muttered, wiping his eyes.
‘Packing,’ I replied, tossing the box of tangled controllers into a pile.
‘For what?’
I ignored him and continued my work.
He yawned, stretching lazily. ‘Mum called? She said they’re coming over today with their stuff.’
I smiled. ‘Oh, I know.’
Jack didn’t even pay attention to my tone. He just hummed and trotted off to the bathroom.
By the time I left for the school event, the house was quiet. Peaceful.
I was sitting in the auditorium, half-listening to the principal talk about school spirit, when my phone buzzed pitifully in my pocket. I looked at the screen and grinned.
IN-LAUS.
I walked out, sat down on a bench, and answered in my nicest voice. ‘Hello?’
‘WHAT DID YOU DO?!’ shrieked Diana.
I took the phone away from my ear, continuing to smile. ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’
‘You locked us out!’ – She shouted. ‘We can’t get in! We have bags! Where’s Jack!’
Jack’s voice came next, harsh and angry. ‘Emily, open the damn door!’
I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. ‘Oh, Jack. You really haven’t thought this through, have you?’
Silence.
Then Harold hissed: ‘You ungrateful little…’
‘Ah, ah, ah, ah,’ I interrupted. ‘Let me get one thing straight.’
I took a deep breath, savouring the moment.
‘This is my house. I paid for it. Not Jack. Not you. Я. And I’m sick of being treated like an endless bank account.’
Jack’s voice had changed – it was softer now. ‘Emily, come on. Let’s talk this over.’
‘Oh, we’ll talk,’ I said. ‘In court.’
Diana sighed. ‘In court?! You’re divorcing him over this?!’
I laughed. ‘No, Diana. I’m divorcing him because I refuse to be the one making an effort while he does nothing. I’m sick of being treated like I owe you all something.’
Jack made one last attempt. ‘Emily, please. We can fix this.’
I smirked. ‘Jack, your things are in the garage. Feel free to take them. But you’re not coming back to the house as my husband.’
Diana was freaking out. ‘You can’t do that! You’re his wife!’
‘Not for long,’ I said and ended the conversation.
That night I lay in bed, in my house, with no one demanding anything of me. Not my lazy husband. Not my mother-in-law, who acted entitled.
Just silence. Just peace. I exhaled deeply, feeling lighter than I had in years.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t someone’s wife.
I was just me. And I was free.
