My husband, Ethan, walked into our living room with a determined look on his face. His expression told me that he had rehearsed what he was about to say. And when the words finally left his mouth, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Ethan and his mother, Diane, had decided, without my input, that I should quit my job as a financial consultant. At first, I thought it was a joke, but as I looked at Ethan’s face, I knew he was serious.
I had been married to Ethan for two years, and for the most part, life was good. We had a nice home, stable careers, and a routine that worked. But there was one ongoing complication: my mother-in-law, Diane. She had opinions on everything, from how I cooked to how I prioritized my career.
Ethan was a mama’s boy, and Diane’s opinions often influenced his decisions. I had learned to manage the situation by picking my battles and gently steering Ethan away from her worst ideas. But this time, she had gone too far.
The proposal was absurd. Ethan and Diane thought my career didn’t matter and that I should be their personal housekeeper instead. They believed that a woman’s value lies in her family and that my job was a distraction. I was shocked and angry, but I kept my cool, pretending to consider their proposal.
As the conversation went on, I realized that they were serious about their plan. They even offered to pay me if I did it right. I was taken aback by their audacity, but I decided to play along.
The next morning, I informed my boss that I’d be taking an extended leave and assured Ethan that I was fully committed to my new role as Diane’s full-time housekeeper. I cut off my financial support, and at first, they didn’t notice. But soon, reality hit.
Diane’s weekly spa appointments were canceled, and her favorite high-end beauty treatments were gone. The expensive organic groceries I used to buy were replaced with the cheapest store-brand items. Ethan’s monthly wardrobe upgrades were no longer possible, and weekend getaways were out of the question.
I watched, amused, as the inconveniences piled up. One evening, Ethan sat at the dining table, his eyes glued to his bank statement. He muttered, “I don’t understand. We never had money problems before.”
I gave him a sweet smile. “That’s because I was the breadwinner.” Diane paled, and Ethan’s face fell.
I let the suffering go on for a full month, just long enough for them to feel it. Then, one evening, I announced that I would be going back to work and filing for divorce. The look of relief on Ethan’s face was priceless, but it was too late. The damage was done, and I had made up my mind.
The divorce was finalized, and I finally got to live in my house all by myself. Ethan tried asking me for forgiveness, but I was done. The accusation about me cheating while I was at work was the final straw that made me leave him. I realized that I deserved better than a husband who let his mother control our lives and dictate my choices.
