Twenty years ago, I set off for work just like any other day, dressed in the usual uniform I always wore. My wife and I were living in my in-laws house, just until we save enough, as she would often say. I never caused any fuss I tried to be respectful, kept the place tidy, and did my best not to get in anyones way. That morning, I left our room spotless, my clothes folded neatly in the wardrobe, completely unaware of what would greet me when I came back.
When I returned later that afternoon, the first thing I noticed was the strange silence. There was no sound of anyone around. As I walked upstairs towards our bedroom, I saw the bed piled with black bin bags, taped shut, and the air was thick with the musty smell of damp clothes mixed with dust. My mother-in-law stood there, arms folded, as though shed been waiting for me. She told me she had finally done what her daughter didnt have the backbone to do.
I had no idea what she meant. I opened one of the bin bags and saw all my clothes in there wrinkled, tossed in at random, jumbled together with shoes, shirts, trousers, even my underwear. The lot looked like rubbish. I asked her what she was playing at, and she replied coolly that shed thrown out those indecent clothes because she wouldnt have any woman parading in front of her daughter in her house. I was frozen to the spot I didnt own anything the slightest bit inappropriate.
The worst part was when she marched me outside to the garden. In a large metal tub, the rest of my clothes lay in a filthy heap, stained with mud, some sliced up, others burnt at the edges. She told me shed done it for my own good, that I needed to start dressing like a husband and not like one of those sorts. The way she said it, so sure of herself, left me feeling both furious and frightened.
When my wife got home from work, her mother spoke before I could get a word in. She told her shed found unsuitable clothes and had to take action. My wife didnt defend me. She didnt even ask if it was true. She just stood there, staring at the floor, looking as if she agreed. I pleaded with her to say something anything but all she said was that she didnt want any trouble with Mum.
That night, I slept in the clothes Id worn all day, with only an old pair of trousers I found in the drawer, despite the broken zip. My mother-in-law passed by our door repeatedly, as if checking to make sure I wasnt wearing anything unseemly. The next day, as I gathered what scraps I could recover from my ruined wardrobe, she told me that if I wanted to keep living there, Id have to follow her houses rules. She said it without an ounce of shame.
On the third day, I packed up whatever was left, squeezed it into a borrowed suitcase, and went to stay with my aunt.
My wife stayed with her mother.
