Im invited to his parents house, yet I refuse to become their servant.
He offers me a place in the family home, but I wont be the allpurpose maid for his clan.
My name is Élodie, Im twentysix. Julien and I have been married for almost two years. We live in a cozy little flat in Lyon that I inherited from my grandmother. At first everything was fine: Julien liked staying at my place, it suited him perfectly. Then, out of nowhere, he announced, Its time we move into my family house; theres room, and when we have kids itll be ideal.
Im not interested in that ideal under the same roof as his noisy family. I dont want to swap my home for a place dominated by patriarchy and blind obedience. There I would be nothing more than free labor, not his wife.
I still recall my first visit to their home. A sprawling country house on the outskirts, at least 300m², where his parents, his younger brother Théo, his wife Camille, and their three children all livea full package. The moment I stepped into the entrance, everyone assigned me a role: women in the kitchen, men in front of the TV. Before I even finished unpacking, his mother handed me a knife and ordered, Slice the salad. No please, no when youre ready, just a command.
During dinner I watched Camille dart around, never daring to contradict her motherinlaw. Every remark was met with a guilty smile and a nod. It chilled me. I instantly knew this wasnt a life for me. Im not a docile Camille, and I wont bend.
When we announced our departure, his mother shouted, Then who will wash the dishes? I looked her straight in the eyes and replied, Hosts clean up after guests. Were guests, not employees.
The argument escalated. I was called ungrateful, insolent, a spoiled city girl. I listened calmly, thinking that I would never belong there.
Julien stood by me that day. We left. For six months everything was calm. He visited his family without me, and I managed. Then he started bringing up the move againfirst subtly, then more insistently.
Over there its family, its home, he would say. Mom could help with the kids, youd get a break. And we could rent out our flat for extra income.
What about my job? I asked. Im not going to quit everything and bury myself 40km from Lyon. What am I supposed to do there?
You wont need to work, he shrugged. Youll have a child, take care of the house, like everyone else. A woman belongs at home.
That was the last straw. Im a universityeducated woman with a career and ambitions. Im an editor who loves her work and built everything on my own. And now Im being told my place is behind the stove and the diapers, in a house where Ill be yelled at for an unwashed pan and taught how to soupmake or give birth properly?
I understand Julien is a product of his environment. In his world, sons carry on the line and wives are strangers who must stay silent and be grateful for being allowed in. But I dont swallow that kind of nonsense. I endured his mothers humiliations, clenched my teeth when Théo joked, Camille never complains! But enough is enough.
I told him plainly, Either we live separately, respecting each other, or you go back to your family castle without me. He took offense, accused me of breaking up the family, said a son doesnt live on foreign territory. I dont care. My flat isnt foreign, and my voice matters.
I dont want a divorce, but cohabiting with his clan is out of the question. If he wont abandon his plan to move next to his mother, Ill be the first to pack my suitcase. Being alone is better than being secondbest to his family.
