My in-laws started showing up uninvited, and my husband insisted I “be nice” because they helped with our house down payment. At first, I brushed off their constant visits, daily calls, and habit of rearranging things as just cultural closeness. But it escalated.
One day, I came home early and found his mother reading my journal and medical bills, while his father impersonated my husband on a call with our internet provider. Later, I discovered they’d even accessed our bank account. My husband stayed silent, and that silence spoke volumes.
I left for a while to clear my head. When I returned, I told him: we needed to pay them back. No more strings, no more control. Selling our car, picking up extra jobs, and cutting back on everything was exhausting—but it gave us freedom. The day we repaid them, we changed the locks.
At first, his parents were furious, but for the first time, my husband defended us. Slowly, we rebuilt boundaries. Eventually, his mother wrote a letter admitting she had equated control with care. It wasn’t an apology, but it was something.
Now, visits happen only on our terms. Our home is smaller and simpler, but it’s ours—truly ours.
