After ten years spent moving from one rented apartment to another, enduring constant neighbor renovations and a leaking ceiling, finally owning a home—albeit modest and not luxurious—felt like a miracle to us.
The first visitors who arrived were my husband’s parents.
“What a cozy living room!” my mother-in-law exclaimed at first, but her expression quickly twisted into dissatisfaction. “Though these wallpapers are too dark, and the floors creak badly. We’ll need to replace them.”
She wandered through the house, incessantly pointing fingers: “The kitchen is tiny, the appliances outdated… And what’s with this bathroom tile? It’s completely unfashionable!”
My husband tried to interject, “Mom, we’ve just moved in,” but she dismissed him sharply: “So what? Everything should be redone immediately!”
When she stepped into the humble room we had set aside as a “guest room,” she snorted, “What is this tiny cage? The wardrobe won’t fit, the bed is old, the window’s too small…”
“We thought it might be comfortable for you,” I murmured.
“Comfortable? You can’t even place a proper mattress here!”
She then entered our bedroom and immediately lay down on the bed.
“Oh, how comfortable! This is where I’ll sleep,” she declared.
“But Mom, that’s our room,” my husband said cautiously.
“What of it? My blood pressure and heart have been acting up; I need quality rest! I can’t sleep in the living room — the sofa is too hard and the TV sound comes from the next room.”
I clenched my fists silently.
“Then where will we sleep?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“There’s space in the living room! You’re young — you can sleep on the floor if needed,” she waved dismissively.
At that moment, my father-in-law’s voice rang out:
“When will we eat? I have diabetes and must follow a strict diet! Plus, a small drink wouldn’t hurt — it’s good for the blood vessels.”
Checking the clock, I saw it was only four in the afternoon.
“We haven’t had a chance to stock up on groceries yet…” I began.
“How could you not?!” Mother-in-law snapped. “Didn’t you know we’d be coming? My son needs special food — porridges, vegetables, diet meats!”
“And sugar-free compote,” father-in-law added. “But if sugar is all that’s available, I’ll just take a pill afterward.”
I glanced at the fridge, which we had filled with a week’s supply of food. Within two hours, that supply vanished without a trace. Despite his diabetes, father-in-law ate fried potatoes with lard greedily, smacking his lips:
“Oh, what perfect timing for our arrival! Otherwise, you would’ve eaten everything yourselves.”
Then he discovered a bottle of premium cognac — a housewarming gift from the neighbors.
“Lucky me! The doctor said a little cognac is good for blood vessels,” he said cheerfully.
“But you’re on medication!” mother-in-law protested.
“I’m not drinking the whole bottle!” he snapped defensively.
He drank almost the entire bottle. Mother-in-law finished the rest “so it wouldn’t go to waste.”
The day after their arrival — after they had claimed our bedroom, emptied the fridge, and consumed the housewarming cognac — another knock came at the door.
My husband’s brother appeared along with his wife, two overly energetic children, and a huge Labrador.
“Hello! We’re visiting for a week!” he announced joyfully, hauling three enormous suitcases, a child’s bike, and a bag of dog food into the hallway.
“Where will we sleep?” his wife asked, appraising the house with a scrutinizing gaze.
“What’s for dinner? We’re starving after the trip!” he added.
“Woof! Woof!” their dog chimed in, immediately jumping onto our new sofa.
I gazed silently at my husband, who scratched his head nervously:
“Well… we couldn’t refuse.”
Hearing the commotion, my mother-in-law emerged from what was now her bedroom:
“Oh, they brought a dog! How lovely! But it mustn’t enter my room — I’m allergic.”
His wife assured her instantly:
“He’s very well-behaved! Barely sheds and only messes up when nervous.”
Meanwhile, the children were running around the living room, while the dog happily chewed our coffee table leg.
- “I hope you don’t mind the dog staying indoors? We won’t put him outside in the kennel,” brother-in-law said, unloading the last suitcase, which I later discovered contained only video games and a couple of T-shirts.
I looked at the empty fridge, our bedroom occupied by my mother-in-law, the sofa we and my husband now shared, and the new “lodger” standing with his paws on my new blouse…
“What’s for food?” relatives asked.
“Yesterday, my dear parents emptied everything, and I haven’t been to the store yet today,” I replied softly.
“Didn’t you buy food for everyone?” my mother-in-law snapped, poking at an almost empty jar of pickled cucumbers with a fork.
I gripped a shopping bag: inside was my only treat, a pastry saved “for my tea.”
“I didn’t know you’d be staying so long.”
“How could you not know?!” she scoffed. “Isn’t family allowed to visit for a bit?”
That evening I locked myself in the bathroom, turned on the water, and allowed myself to quietly weep for the first time in ages.
In the kitchen, loud debates raged over dinner preparation. Father-in-law, suffering from a hangover, demanded pickle juice. Mother-in-law shouted that it was forbidden, yet poured “just a little” to ease his discomfort. My husband whispered, “Bear with it; they’ll leave soon.”
But I realized they wouldn’t be leaving.
This marked the start of our torment. My husband and I transformed into unpaid servants:
- Morning – preparing breakfast for eight people (including the dog).
- Daytime – trips to the store three times daily, just in case guests got hungry.
- Evening – cleaning up after a “modest” dinner, while father-in-law demanded seconds and the children smeared mashed potatoes on the new wallpaper.
After a week, I checked our expenses and realized we had spent:
- My entire salary
- The vacation fund we’d saved for a sea trip
- The emergency reserve “for a rainy day”
When I timidly suggested the guests chip in for groceries, my mother-in-law was outraged:
“We’re family! We’re not living in a hotel!”
Their behavior was especially “touching” to witness when:
- Mother-in-law and sister-in-law debated which curtains looked best in my living room.
- The children doodled on walls with markers while their mother justified it as “creativity.”
- The dog slept on my pillow while my husband and I squeezed onto a fold-out bed in the storage room.
One “wonderful” day, as I washed dishes after yet another meal for eight (in three courses), and my husband made his third trip to the store that day for suddenly depleted bread, I realized this could not continue.
At five in the morning, I awoke to the Labrador chewing my last sock. The cramped storage room we’d been sharing smelled of dampness and despair.
In the kitchen, my mother-in-law clamored for coffee, complaining about her blood pressure.
I glanced at my husband; he avoided my gaze.
This had to end.
I walked into the living room, where my brother-in-law’s children were again drawing on the walls, and the dog was chewing my favorite book. Grabbing a broom, I slammed it on the table with a loud bang.
Silence.
“Enough. That’s it.”
My mother-in-law rolled her eyes:
“Oh, what’s wrong now?”
“You all — out. Today. Now.”
A chorus of protest erupted:
- “We don’t have tickets!”
- “What about the dog?”
- “I have diabetes; I can’t get upset!”
I pulled out my phone:
“The taxi will arrive in twenty minutes. You’re going to the station. The dog goes to a shelter.”
My father-in-law paled.
“Are you crazy?! We’re family!”
“No. Family doesn’t behave like a locust swarm,” I replied firmly.
My husband tried to intervene:
“Maybe don’t be so harsh…”
I turned to him:
“Choose. Them or me.”
He chose me.
Three hours later, our house was empty. Marks from suitcases, a cognac stain on the floor, and… silence remained.
I sank onto the sofa (my sofa!) and closed my eyes.
Finally, we were home again.
A week after regaining our space, the phone rang. The caller ID read “Mother-in-law.” I took a deep breath and answered.
“Well, congratulations!” came the venomous voice. “Now the whole family is offended. We will never visit you again!”
An involuntary smile crossed my face as I looked at the clean walls and my sofa where I could finally stretch out peacefully.
“Thanks for the update,” I replied calmly. “We’re changing the locks.”
Mother-in-law gasped in outrage: “How dare you! We’re family!”
“A real family doesn’t act like an occupying army,” I responded. “And doesn’t consume a fridge like locusts.”
There was a pause, then a snort:
“Fine, live in your chicken coop! We won’t bring you crumbs or help anymore!”
“Really?” I couldn’t resist smiling.
The call ended abruptly. I glanced at my husband, standing in the kitchen doorway with two cups of tea.
“Mom?” he asked, setting a cup before me.
“She promises not to visit again,” I said, accepting the warm drink.
He sat down opposite, looking relaxed for the first time in weeks.
“You know…” he began, “I think we should take a vacation. Just the two of us.”
I reached for his hand. Outside, birds sang; inside, the aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the room along with the scent of freedom.
“You know what’s funny?” I said after a pause. “They actually think this is a punishment.”
We exchanged a glance and laughed — genuinely and easily — for the first time in many weeks.
In conclusion, this story highlights how invasive relatives can disrupt a household’s harmony, turning a dream home into a battleground. Boundaries in family relationships are crucial, and asserting them respectfully is essential for preserving peace and sanity. Sometimes, choosing your own well-being over toxic family dynamics is the path to reclaiming your home and happiness.