For months, I had put up with strangers in my apartment; my husband kept repeating, «They are my parents.» 😒 But one day, I realized it was time to put an end to this chaos…
For months, I lived as if I weren’t in my own apartment, but in some kind of passageway. Formally, it was our home, mine and my husband’s, but it felt like a free hotel for all his parents, friends, neighbors, acquaintances, and even people I was seeing for the first time. My husband always said the same thing: «They’re family, bear with it a little.» But this «little» lasted weeks, then months, and one day I realized I could no longer go on like this. 😞
That night, I came home at three in the morning after a tough shift. My head felt like it was exploding, as if someone were hammering my temples, my legs were screaming, and all I dreamed of was one thing: closing the door, lying in my bed, and sleeping a few hours in peace. 😢 But the moment I stepped into the apartment, I knew calm was impossible.
In the kitchen, a late-night meal was in full swing. At the table sat my husband’s parents, bottles mixed with plates, greasy stains on the tablecloth, crumbs everywhere, empty cigarette packs, and dirty forks scattered around.
My mother-in-law, in her leopard-print robe, behaved as if it weren’t my kitchen but her personal kingdom. Someone was laughing too loudly, someone spoke in a garbled language, and someone was rifling through the fridge without asking if it was okay to take food.
I quietly opened the fridge, hoping to find something to eat after work. But inside, there was only a lonely carrot, half a jar of old sour cream, and a dry slice of bread. Everything else had been eaten—even though I was the one providing most of the salary, the food, and running the household.
I stood in the middle of my kitchen, staring at this chaos, feeling a heavy, cold anger rising inside me. It wasn’t the first time. They always found an excuse to gather at our place.
Someone had a baby, and it had to be celebrated immediately. Someone had a birthday. Or simply: «It’s been a long time since we saw each other.» Sometimes, my husband’s friends suddenly found themselves homeless and came to stay with us. Sometimes, these people didn’t stay one or two days, but weeks, even months.
They ate my food and complained that the soup was too salty or the meatballs were dry. They sprawled on my couch and said the screen on the TV was too small. They slept on my sofa and then said it was hard and needed to be replaced long ago.
That night, when I calmly—but firmly—asked everyone to finish their gathering and go home, I didn’t even get to finish my sentence. My mother-in-law waved her hand as if explaining something to a foolish child: «Our relative’s daughter was born, so we celebrate. What’s wrong with that?»
Of course, my husband immediately took their side. He repeated that they were his family, that I couldn’t be so harsh, that people were only there for a short time, and that I should understand.
And that’s when I realized one thing clearly. Words could no longer fix anything. My husband needed to understand it firsthand.
After that night, I stayed silent for about two more weeks, pretending nothing had happened. But in reality, I was working out the plan in every detail.
And here’s what I did.
One evening, I calmly told my husband that it was high time to renovate the apartment. The wallpaper had faded, the floor was worn, the kitchen looked tired. 😏 For the duration of the work, I added as nonchalantly as possible, we would need to go somewhere. For example, to his parents’ or friends’ homes. They’re all «close ones,» almost like family, they’ve stayed at our place so many times—they could now help us out.
At first, my husband didn’t even understand where I was going with this. He just frowned and asked where we would live. I shrugged and said he had plenty of options: go to his sister’s, go to his brother’s, go to a friend who had spent months on our couch sharing his stories.
I deliberately pretended to take everything very seriously. I called a company, checked prices and deadlines, looked at materials, and even discussed with my husband when the workers could start.
He became visibly nervous. He followed me around the apartment, constantly asking if the renovation was really necessary right now.
That weekend, he finally called his sister. He explained that the renovations were about to start and that we would need somewhere to stay for a few weeks. I stayed silent beside him, listening.
At first, there was a long silence on the phone, then the usual excuses. Their apartment was small. My husband was tired from work. It was cramped for them too. Maybe it would be better if we took a hotel or found someone else.
Then my husband called his brother. He immediately found an excuse too. Then a friend. Then another. At one place, the mother-in-law was visiting, at another the children were sick, at a third there was construction, at a fourth it wasn’t convenient because his wife wouldn’t allow it. Everyone who had treated our home like their own for months refused, one by one.
I said nothing. I didn’t smile, I didn’t bring up past situations, I didn’t look pleased. I simply sat and waited for him to understand what I had known all along.
That evening, he sat silently in the kitchen, staring at a fixed point for a long time. Then, softly, he said a sentence I will probably remember for the rest of my life: “So, the ‘close ones’ are only close when they can live at our expense. But when we need help, suddenly everyone has plans, constraints, and problems.” 😮
That’s when he finally understood everything. Not after my requests, not after arguments, sleepless nights, or the empty fridge. Only when he found himself in my position.
We never actually started the renovations. Or rather, we postponed them, because the essential part was already accomplished. 😉😉😉😉😉😉
