My husband and mother-in-law thought the house was theirs when they threatened me with divorce, but now they can move in together to pursue their unhealthy relationship, because it’s been my inheritance. I’m Kaiti, a 30-year-old office worker who somehow finds herself in a situation worthy of a sitcom.
I’m a working woman—that’s how I describe myself—married to a man who’s still too dependent on his mother. That’s my husband, Gary, and I have a mother-in-law who seems to think she’s the Queen of England. I know what you’re thinking. Katy, why did you marry a mama’s boy? Well, let me make it clear that love can make us blind, deaf, and apparently a little dumb.
When I first learned what I’d be doing in college, it seemed like a dream: tall, handsome, and able to form complete sentences, which is rare in the wild world of academia. A few years later, here I am, living in a wonderful, multimillion-dollar home with my husband and our daughter—a house I inherited from my father. Sounds like a fairy tale, right? Well, brace yourselves, because this is where the story gets interesting.
My adoring husband and his doting mother believed this spacious home, worth every penny of that $2 million, was the result of Gary’s hard work and his mother’s excellent taste. But before I reveal the exciting details of how I managed to emerge victorious in this scam of the century, let me take you through the hilarious, frustrating, and downright absurd events that led me to the moment I finally decided to drop the bomb.
I was a college student full of dreams and high expectations when I met Gary. With nothing but a dream, a mountain of textbooks, and an unhealthy addiction to coffee shop coffee, Kari entered my life like a knight, even though his armor was made of football jerseys and beer cans. Our eyes met in a crowded classroom, and it was love at first sight.
Well, it wasn’t really that romantic; it was more like he spilled his energy drink on my notes. And I may have said a few things that would make a sailor blush, but hey, what better way to declare true love than with ruined notes and sticky fingers. From that day on, we became inseparable. The first indication of Gary’s peculiar relationship with his mother came on our third date.
Picture the scene: a candlelit dinner. Soft music playing, us staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Suddenly, his phone rang. He ignored it like any sensible person on a date. But our Gary jumped up on the table to answer it. “Hi, Mom,” he said with the enthusiasm of a happy puppy who sees his owner after five minutes of separation.
What followed was a 15-minute conversation about whether I’d agreed to wear his lucky underwear for exam week. I wish he was joking, I really did. So I decided to leave quickly, as any woman with a shred of dignity would, rather than stand there sipping my cheap, lukewarm wine, while thinking about how sweet his love for his mother was.
Katy from the past, if you could go back and slap yourself awake, I would do it without hesitation. Years went by, and suddenly we were engaged. How did that happen? you might ask. Well, it included a hidden ring, a proposal speech that mentioned her mother no less than five times, and I, in my infinite wisdom, said yes.
The wedding planning phase was an experience, and when I say experience, I mean a nightmare filled with passive-aggressive comments from my future mother-in-law. Friends, this is where Carol really started to shine. Every decision, from the color of the napkins to the flavor of the cake, required her approval.
God forbid she chose lilac for the bridesmaids’ dresses. Carol nearly suffered a neurosmia over it. And Gy, well, her helpfulness was comparable to that of a hot chocolate teapot. Whenever I asked her opinion on something, she’d shrug and say, “Whatever you and Mom think is best.”
“I should have known then that I wasn’t just marrying Gary, but also entering into a polygamous relationship with him and his mother. But the real fun began when we started house hunting. Most couples house hunt together, perhaps bringing along a real estate agent or a trusted friend to give their opinion, but not us; that would have been too normal. We brought Carol.”
The final straw came when we finally found a house everyone approved of. And when I say everyone, I mean Carol approved. And I was too tired to argue further. During a visit in the living room, Carol turned to Gary with tears in her eyes and said, “Hey, honey, can I just imagine our family gathered here on Christmas morning? Our family—no, your family, ours.”
“Right there I was, and somehow I’d already been erased from the picture.” Gary corrected her. Of course not, but he just nodded, probably thinking about what he’d look like in bear pajamas opening presents while his adoring mother looked on with twinkling eyes. By now, you’re probably wondering why I didn’t just run away from there—believe me, I’ve asked myself that question approximately 37,042 times since then—but love, lack of sleep from all the house-visiting, and the notion of sunk costs are a dangerous combination. So
Against all better judgment and probably several laws of nature, we got married. And the wedding was good. Let’s just say if you looked up the word circus in the dictionary, you’d find a photo of our bridal party. Carol chose a white dress—so yes, you read that right, white—for her son’s wedding.
When I mentioned it to Gy, he just shrugged and commented that his mom said he was off-white. Seriously, off-white was whiter than a polar bear in a blizzard. But we managed to go through with the ceremony. We said yes. We cut the cake and began our new life together.
And when I say together, I mean with Carol’s constant presence lurking in the background. You’d think that after we got married and settled into our new home, which Carol had chosen, things would calm down, but they didn’t. Married life with Gary was like being in a three-legged race, where the third leg was Carol, who was always trying to knock me off my feet.
She was everywhere. If she wasn’t physically there, she was present in spirit, occupying space in Gary’s mind and controlling every detail of our lives. If we wanted to buy a new sofa, we had to consult with Carol first. If I was thinking about trying a new recipe for dinner, no, because Gary only likes the way his mother cooks.
If I wanted to paint the guest room, I had to calm down, because Carol might not like that color combination. And before I knew it, I was expecting a baby. Most women enjoy this period. They throw baby showers, decorate the nursery, and bask in the glow that comes with motherhood.
I, on the other hand, was receiving incessant comments from Carol about everything I consumed, drank, or did. It turns out that when you were expecting our precious Gary Junior, you no longer had the freedom to make your own decisions. Oh, Katy, you should be drinking coffee, she’d say. I never touched that stuff while I was pregnant with Gary. Perhaps that explains how he turned out.
So, Katy, are you sure you want to paint the baby’s room that color? Studies indicate it could affect cognitive development. Again, Gary seemed to have tried that paint too, and of course, he approved of everything his mom said. I swear, if Carol had suggested he stand on his head and sing something, he would have done it to ensure a healthy baby.
I’d have been upside down singing nursery rhymes before you could say umbilical cord. The day I went into labor was quite an event. I was huffing and puffing, trying not to curse all the men in the world. And guess who walked into the delivery room. Carol Gary had called her before the hospital. No kidding.
His first instinct upon learning his wife was in labor was to call his mother. I’d say I was shocked. But by then I was too busy bringing a new life into the world to care. There I was welcoming a new baby, with my husband on one side looking like he might faint at any moment, and my mother-in-law on the other, offering wisdom.
Like Katy now, when I gave birth to Gary, I didn’t make as much fuss. Having a baby became more ammunition for Carol. Now I wasn’t just an unfit wife, but a poor mother as well. Every decision I made was wrong. I didn’t feed the baby well, I didn’t change her properly, and she didn’t sing the right songs. I was inundated with endless criticism, all delivered with that cloying smile that made me want to push her across a barrel of cement.
Gary was thrilled. He had his mother and his wife under the same roof. The fact that his wife was on the verge of insanity didn’t seem to bother him at all. It was at that moment that I realized I had to make a change. And it wasn’t for me or because I was already too far gone, but for my daughter. I refused to raise a child who thought it was normal for her father to consult her mother for every decision.
I didn’t want her to grow up believing her worth depended on how well she lived up to her grandmother’s impossible standards. So, like any sensible woman would, I changed jobs. Yes, you read that right. I quit my well-paying, stable job with irregular hours for one that paid less but allowed me to be home more.
I was determined to be there for my daughter in a way Gary never would be. Of course, Carol wasn’t quiet about it. Oh, Cat, are you sure this is a good idea? How will you maintain Kari’s lifestyle on that salary? As if Kari’s lifestyle of playing video games and consulting her mom about what socks to wear required a six-figure salary? But I stood my ground.
The first time I met Gary, I made a decision without considering what Carol might think. But don’t worry, this isn’t the end of the story. No, we’re just getting started. Remember the $100,000 house I mentioned? That’s where things really get interesting, but that’s a topic for later.
For now, I need a good, strong drink and possibly a lobotomy to forget the image of Carol in her white wedding dress. Update one. Last time, I left the story at the time of my daughter’s birth and the brilliant decision I made to change jobs. Now let’s fast-forward to when things started to escalate.
We were a happy family of three or four if you count Carol, something Gary apparently always did. Our daughter was growing faster than Gary’s mountain of laundry. And we were starting to feel a little cramped in our current house. You know, the one Carol generously chose for us when we got married. A fine day.
Over a breakfast of burnt toast, my loving husband blurted out something that almost made me choke on my burnt bread. “Honey,” he said with all the gentleness of an elephant in a china shop. “I’ve been thinking that Mom is getting older, and I’m worried about her future. What do you think about looking for a place where we can all live together? I pride myself on thinking I’m a reasonable person.”
I’d put up with Carol’s constant meddling and Gary’s inability to make decisions without consulting his mother, but this was too much. I tried to explain that Carol is old, like a fine wine laced with preservatives, and probably won’t outlive them all. I reminded him of the values, but Gary was determined.
He had a prepared speech about the importance of family and caring for our elders, which I’m pretty sure Carol wrote for him and had him practice in front of a mirror. I was faced with a difficult decision: agree to live with the person who has made it his mission to criticize every aspect of my life, or be the mean daughter-in-law who denies the sweet one.
Carol’s joy in watching her granddaughter grow up. But my friend Katy isn’t one to give up easily. So I put on my adult pants and proposed a solution. We would look for a house, of course, but one that would be close to Carol’s current residence. Not in the same house, but close enough for frequent visits and far enough away so I could pretend the doorbell was broken when I needed a mental break.
Surprisingly, Kerry agreed. I suspect he was relieved that I hadn’t filed for divorce on the spot or committed him to a mental hospital just for suggesting he live with his mother. Remember, I mentioned earlier that I inherited a house from my father. Well, this is where the story gets interesting. I hadn’t told Gary about this small inheritance.
Why? you might ask. Partly because I knew that as soon as Carol found out, she’d start redecorating the place in her mind, but mostly because I wanted something that was uniquely mine. So I suggested we look at houses in an area that happened to include the property I’d inherited. Gary didn’t suspect a thing. He was too busy making sure each house we visited had a room suitable for his mother’s extended stays.
We finally chose a house, and when I say chose, I mean I managed to convince Gary and Carol that the house I’d inherited was for sale and ideal for us. Of course, having more space didn’t stop Carol; it just gave her more opportunity to expand her madness. She began visiting us constantly.
At first it was just once a week, then twice, and soon, every other day. I was looking for excuses to stay at work longer and avoid coming home to find her reorganizing my pantries or lecturing me on the proper way to fold fitted sheets. Gary was thrilled to have his mom around, cooking his favorite dishes and treating him like he was still a 12-year-old who needed his mom to cut the edges off his sandwiches.
About three months after we moved in, I came home one day to find Carol had let herself in and was in the middle of repainting our living room. “Oh, Katy, you’re here,” she said cheerfully, as if entering someone’s home and redecorating was a completely normal thing to do. I hope it doesn’t bother you, but that almond color was so boring.
I thought a beautiful hollyhock would make everything more vibrant. “Mommy, look what Grandma gave me,” my daughter said, showing off one of the most ridiculous dresses I’d ever seen. She loved it. As I looked at my mauve walls and Carol’s satisfied expression, I realized something had to change.
And since it’s legally frowned upon to throw your mother-in-law out a window, I knew I was the one who had to change. It all started with a phone call from my mother. Let me take a moment to appreciate my mother. Compared to Carol, she’s a true angel. She calls me once a week.
He remembers my birthday without Facebook reminding him and has never insinuated that his dishwasher loading skills are better than mine, but this call was different. My parents’ health had been declining, and things had taken a turn for the worse. They were having serious difficulty taking care of themselves and really needed help.
I did what any good daughter would do. I adjusted my work schedule, kissed my daughter, and prepared to split my time between home and my parents’. Gary’s response was what anyone could have expected,” he murmured something about how complicated it would be for him to handle the situation without my support, as if he were the only one having to balance a job, a daughter, and two ailing parents.
He even dared to suggest that perhaps Carol could come live with us permanently to help out, but I didn’t have time for that. I had my parents to take care of, a daughter to raise, and a job to hold down. So I did what women have done since ancient times. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and moved on.
What I didn’t anticipate was Carol’s reaction to my new schedule. You might think she’d be happy, as I was spending less time at home, allowing her to redecorate as she pleased and spoil her precious little boy. However, that wasn’t the case. To her, the fact that I put my own parents first meant that I was somehow failing in my responsibilities as a wife and mother.
I wasn’t spending enough time with my daughter. The house was a mess, and Gary was eating too much takeout. It all came to a head one night when I returned home late from my parents’ house, exhausted and emotionally drained, and found Carol standing in the kitchen with a disapproving expression.
Katy said in that syrupy voice that made me want to do something drastic. I think we need to talk about your priorities, and here, dear Redditors, I’ll leave you for now because what happened next, well, that’s a different story. Update two. I was in my kitchen, so exhausted I could barely see straight.
I’d spent the day answering work calls, changing my dad’s drip, and trying to convince my mom that I should eat something more nutritious than stale crackers and sadness. And now here was Carol looking at me and accusing me. What came out of my mouth was an explosion of frustration, anger, and enough profanity to create new insults.
It was as if a dam had burst and years of hidden resentment had spilled over. Carol didn’t take it well. Her face went through more colors than a chameleon in a bag of candy. Then Gary arrived, ready to defend my honor and put his mother in her place. But no. Gary looked at the scene with his wife, red-faced and possibly on the verge of rage, and his dear old mom, looking like she might faint on the nearest couch. And guess what he did.
He took her side in the big conflict between his wife and his mother. Gary chose his mother and began giving me a speech about respect, family values, and how I was destroying the family with my selfish behavior. But Gary wasn’t finished. He saved the best for last.
In a move I was sure he’d have up his sleeve, he threw out this gem. If you ever decide to get a divorce, you and our daughter won’t be able to manage on your own, do you understand? Oh, my sweet Gary, you just made a monumental mistake. I started laughing, and Gary and Carol looked at me as if I’d finally lost my mind.
And maybe that’s how it was. But in doing so, I also found some courage. Once I was able to catch my breath, I composed myself, and honey, who said I wouldn’t be the one who couldn’t handle it? The confusion on their faces was priceless. You could almost see their brains racing as they tried to understand what I had just said.
And that’s when I dropped the biggest truth bomb: I told them all about the house—which wasn’t just any house, but a $2 million property I had inherited from my father. I explained how every mortgage payment, every tax bill, and every leaky faucet repair had been covered with my money.
Gary’s expression went from confusion to disbelief, then something suspiciously like fear. Carol’s, meanwhile, went from shock to indignation, then a kind of calculating interest that sent shivers down my spine. But I wasn’t done. I was on a roll, and nothing, not even an act of God, could make me shut up.
I told them how I’d silently endured Carol’s interference and Gary’s lack of character for years, how I’d changed jobs, sacrificed my career, and made efforts to cater to their every whim. And for what? To be treated like a glorified servant in my own home. I made it clear things were going to change.
No more unexpected visits from Carol, no more redecorating without my consent, and no more treating me like a charity case who had to be grateful for the crumbs of love they decided to give me. And I made it clear to Gary that he had a decision to make. He could start behaving like a good husband and father or pack his bags and go live with his dear old mom because I was fed up.
Fed up, Carol, as expected, burst into crocodile tears, screaming that she only wanted the best for the family and couldn’t believe I’d cheated on them. How could she be so heartless toward the vulnerable Garish? Garish, for his part, looked like he’d been run over by a truck. He babbled, faltered, and even tried to justify that, as my husband, he had a right to the house.
I made the decision any sensible woman would make in my situation. I called a lawyer, one of those who can make other lawyers wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Because Sigar thought she was going to scare me with intimidation about divorce, she was in for a pleasant surprise.
My lawyer assured me that the house was absolutely mine and that if Gar continued to insist on a divorce, I’d be lucky to get anything more than the clothes on my back. Of course, this isn’t a fairy tale, so things didn’t magically resolve themselves overnight.
In a remarkable act of self-preservation, Gary seemed to realize he’d made a huge mistake. He started talking about couples therapy, trying to work things out, and how much he loved me and our daughter. As for Carol, let’s just say she didn’t take too kindly to her new role as an unwanted person. She tried everything: emotional blackmail, excessive outbursts of affection, and even a lame attempt at an apology.
But I kept my house and my rules, and my rules said I didn’t want Carol anymore. I understood that by standing up for myself and refusing to be a welcome mat again, I was teaching my daughter a fundamental lesson. She deserves respect and doesn’t have to put up with abuse from anyone, not even family, especially family.
Now I know you’re eager to know what happened next. Well, dear curious ones, that’s a story for another time. For now, let’s just say that life is interesting, challenging, yes, but also liberating in ways I never thought possible. I’m rediscovering who I am, freeing myself from Gary’s expectations and Carol’s constant criticism.
So if you’re dealing with your own Gary or Carol, remember this. You’re worth more than you know, you deserve more than you imagine. And sometimes the most liberating thing you can do is just stand up and say, “Enough, for crying out loud.” This became an overnight phenomenon. I can’t believe how many of you are so wrapped up in my drama.
Your comments and messages make me alternate between uncontrollable laughter and tears in my wine glass. I thank you all for the support, the advice, and the extremely creative suggestion on what to do with Carol’s house key. No, I’m not going to glue it inside a fish and mail it to her, although the temptation is great.
To answer some common questions, yes, I’m keeping the house. It’s legally mine, and no tantrum from Gar the toddler will change that. No, I haven’t kicked Gar out yet. We’re in some kind of weird limbo where he’s trying to convince me he can change, and I’m evaluating whether I really want him to try.
Carol is banned from my house. I’ve informed her that if she returns uninvited, I won’t hesitate to call the police. The expression on her face was epic, believe me. To the many who have asked for Carol’s contact number because they find her interesting, get help. Seriously. Yes, I’ve changed the horseshoes and the security code. For those asking about my daughter, she’s fine.
The kids are resilient, and I’m making sure he understands this isn’t his fault. In fact, he seems happier since Carol stopped visiting. What a surprise. And finally, to the person who suggested I write a book, don’t make it easy on me. 50 Shades of Evil. The story of a mother-in-law has an interesting twist, doesn’t it? Thanks again.
Your support means more than you can imagine. I’ll update when I can, but for now, I have a life to live and a lot of drama to resolve. Update three. I’m back because I know how much you’ve been waiting for the outcome of this story and that wonderful marriage I had.
If you’re reading the sarcasm, I bet you were wondering if Gary stayed with me or his lovely mom. Well, let me tell you, he never really had a choice. To be honest, if he had, he probably would have opted for his mother. Luckily, shortly after my last update, the divorce papers were ready to be presented to him.
Gary’s expression upon receiving those papers was as funny as you’d imagine, a mixture of shock, concern, and confusion, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He acted as if the divorce was the most unexpected thing in the world, as if he hadn’t seen it coming. What was truly strange, however, was that he hadn’t filed for divorce much sooner.
In fact, it’s strange that I even married him in the first place, or that I didn’t run away as soon as he showed clear signs of being a mama’s boy. Along with the divorce papers came, as expected, an eviction notice. I wasn’t going to allow him to continue living in my house one day longer than necessary.
The good news for him was that he wouldn’t have to move far. His new, old address was right where everyone imagined his mother’s house to be. Of course, I made that comment thinking it would be a relief to him. I mean, what could be better than living with his beloved mother? Oddly enough, he wasn’t amused. And why? I have no idea.
I thought she’d enjoy it with all her emotional mess. Well, she’s just emotional, right? Fortunately, she didn’t take long to leave. It only took her a few days to pack and move. Probably because she already had some clothes at her mother’s house. I’m not interested in knowing why. Once she left, everything moved along like clockwork.
The divorce process took a few months, as these things tend to do, but it was finally finalized. I kept the house because it was never a joint property. It was an inheritance from my father, and for those wondering, it is possible to inherit something if the person is still alive. As for our belongings, we divided them fairly.
But the best part is that Gary now has to pay child support. This was a huge relief because I was starting to think about looking for a better-paying job to support my daughter and me, now that he’s no longer in the equation. However, thanks to child support, we can cover the difference without worrying too much.
Plus, now that her mother can no longer enter this house or interfere in our lives, there’s a considerable savings. It’s amazing what can be achieved by getting rid of an emotional parasite. As expected, Carol tried to come back. She wanted to come see her granddaughter, but I was very clear. If she wants to see her, she can do it during the time she spends with her dad.
I made it clear to him that there’s no room for her in this house. And yes, maybe I was a little harsh, but I told him that dangerous animals aren’t allowed here. The expression on his face when I told him this was almost as good as Gary’s when he received divorce papers. As for custody of our daughter, we came to an agreement. She spends the week with me and the weekends with her father.
Although, realistically, he mostly spends that time with his grandmother, as Gary still lives with Carol and hasn’t made the slightest attempt to move out, even though it’s been several months since he left my house. Otherwise, I have to say things have improved a lot now.
Once you get rid of what’s poisoning your life, everything starts to improve. It’s as if I’ve been carrying a backpack full of rocks for years, and when I let it go, everything suddenly becomes much easier. I no longer have to tread carefully in my own house or live under Carol’s constant criticism. My daughter is calmer, and although it may be difficult for her to have divorced parents, I think she feels the difference too.
Without her grandmother’s constant interference in our space, the house finally feels like home. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I finally got rid of every trace of mauve in the house. That paint was the first thing to go when she left. Freedom has a color, and I assure you it’s not mauve. Yeah.
