Paul didn’t back down.
“Just leave, Mom,” he said firmly.
Then, without waiting for her to protest, he guided her out of the house.
Before leaving, Jessica threw me one last glance, but for once, she said nothing.
Paul turned back to me, rubbing his temples.
“I’m really sorry. My mom can be unreasonable sometimes.”
I exhaled, relieved. “It’s fine. Thanks for handling it.”
I truly felt grateful to have a husband who stood up for me.
But in the days that followed, I would come to realize that Paul’s idea of handling things was different from mine.
12 days after my mother’s funeral, as the heavy sorrow began to settle, we finally sat down to discuss what would happen to my family home.
I assumed we were on the same page, that we would continue living in our small apartment and decide what to do with the house later.
But Paul suddenly made an unexpected proposal.
“This apartment feels cramped,” he said casually. “Shouldn’t we move back into your parents’ house?”
I blinked. “Move back?”
He nodded. “Yeah. With all of our belongings and, you know, the possibility of having kids in the future, it’s better than squeezing into this tiny apartment.”
I hesitated.
A part of me understood his reasoning. The house was big, and our current apartment was indeed small. But something about the way he brought it up made me uneasy.
Then, after a pause, Paul added in a quieter voice, “Well, we should start preparing for the move.”
I swallowed hard.
There was a pressing concern I needed to address.
“Paul, there’s something important I need to ask about this move.”
He hesitated, as if already knowing what I was about to say. His expression turned uneasy.
After a long pause, he finally spoke.
“Considering how spacious the house is and all the empty rooms…”
I could already tell where this was going, and I didn’t like it one bit.
I stared at my husband in disbelief.
“Are you saying you want your parents to move in with us?”
Paul hesitated, but then nodded.
“I just thought, since the house is big, it could work.”
A cold wave of frustration washed over me.
Lately, I had started noticing subtle changes in my husband.
I used to believe he valued my opinions, but now I wasn’t so sure.
Was he truly supportive, or was he just a people pleaser, maybe even a pushover?
His willingness to entertain my mother-in-law’s every request, despite my clear objections, made me question where his loyalty truly lay.
I had made it clear over and over again that I was against living together with his mother.
And yet, he kept bringing it up.
“Haven’t I told you repeatedly? We are not living together with her,” I reminded him, my voice firm.
Paul sighed. “I know, but Mom keeps insisting.”
I scoffed. “During the funeral, you scolded her for barging into my family home, didn’t you? You stood up for me. You were against cohabitation back then. What changed?”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable.
“Yes, I was upset that she just walked in like that. But that doesn’t mean I’m completely against the idea of living together. I just thought it was wrong for her to make such a big decision so casually, especially on that day.”
I crossed my arms. “So what? Now that some time has passed, you think it’s okay?”
Paul nodded slowly. “I just think it deserves a proper discussion.”
I sighed heavily.
I could see it now.
He was not fully on my side.
He was trying to stay neutral, acting as if he was weighing both sides fairly. But people like him, who tried too hard to remain impartial, often end up hurting the ones they should be standing up for.
It was infuriating.
I refused to live with someone who had barged into my family home on the day of my mother’s funeral and declared which room she would take.
My stance would not change.
“Tell your mom we’re not living together. Make it clear,” I demanded.
Paul frowned. “You really seem bothered by this.”
“Of course I am,” I snapped. “Just tell her.”
“Fine, I will,” he sighed, clearly reluctant.
Before we got married, I had mentally prepared myself for the possibility of living with my in-laws one day.
But after seeing my mother-in-law’s behavior at my mother’s funeral, that possibility had become completely unthinkable.
This home was built by my father and cherished by my mother. Letting my pushy mother-in-law take over was out of the question.
However, when Paul finally conveyed my opposition, my mother-in-law didn’t take it well.
Instead of respecting my decision, she called me directly.
“Why are you so against cohabitation when there’s such a big house?” she asked, her voice sharp. “You’re Paul’s wife now. That makes his father and me your parents too, doesn’t it? Why do you have such a strong opposition to living with us?”