Mother-in-law in our home

The mother-in-law in our apartment

I don’t even know how it’s possible, but I find myself in a situation that makes my hair stand on end. My husband, Javier, has seriously decided that his mother, Carmen López, will move in with us to our new apartment in Madrid. The same apartment we’ve dreamed of since we were 17, the one we saved for for years, took out a mortgage for, and decorated every corner of! And I don’t want her to live with us under any circumstances. Now I face a choice: defend what’s mine, risking an argument with Javi, or swallow my disgust and turn our dream into a shared home. Honestly, I’m confused, but I can’t keep quiet anymore.

Javier and I started dating when we were 17. We were just two teenagers in love dreaming of a future: an apartment of our own, a cozy home where it would be just us and, maybe one day, our children. We imagined how we would choose the wallpaper, hang the sofa, drink coffee on the balcony. Those dreams kept us together while we studied, worked, and saved up for the first payment. And, after years, we finally bought an apartment in Madrid—small, but ours. I still remember the first time we walked in: empty rooms, the smell of fresh paint, and the feeling that it was the beginning of a new life. We decorated it with love: I chose the curtains, Javier set up the furniture, we even argued over the color of the rug. It was our nest, our little world.

A month ago, Javier blurted out, “Laura, I think we should bring my mother to live with us.” At first, I thought he was joking. Carmen lives in a village two hours from Madrid. She has her own house, a vegetable garden, and neighbors she drinks coffee with. Why move in with us? But Javier was serious. “She’s getting older,” he said, “it’s hard for her to live alone. And we have space.” I froze. Our apartment has two rooms: one is ours and the other is free, but we planned it as a nursery or office. And now my mother-in-law would be living there?

I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t a good idea. For starters, Carmen is a woman with a strong will. She likes to impose her way of doing things and doesn’t hesitate to tell me how to cook, clean, or even dress. When she comes to visit, I feel like a guest in my own home within a day. She rearranges my pots and pans, critiques my stew, and teaches me how to iron Javier’s shirts. Imagine if I lived here every day! It would drive me crazy. Besides, we finally had a space of our own where we could be ourselves. We’re young, we want freedom, spontaneous evenings, silence. With Carmen, that wouldn’t be possible—she even plays the TV at full volume.

But Javier doesn’t seem to hear me. “Laura, she’s my mother,” he insists. “We can’t leave her alone.” I’m not saying parents shouldn’t be cared for. But at the expense of our home? I suggested alternatives: visit her more, help her with renovations, hire a caregiver. He insists: “She must be with us, period.” I asked him: “Have you asked me if I want this?” He just shrugged: “I thought you’d understand.” Understand? And who understands me?

I called my friend to vent. She listened and said, “Laura, if you give in, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. It’s your house, you have the right to decide.” And she’s right. It’s not that I dislike Carmen, but I don’t want to share a roof with her. I know how it will end: she’ll interfere in everything, from raising the children to how I store the food. And Javier, instead of supporting me, will say, “Suit yourself, she’s my mother.” I can already see how our sleep is turning into arguments and tension.

Yesterday I plucked up my courage and spoke to him. We sat down, and I said, “Javi, I love you, but I’m not willing to let your mother live here. It’s our home; we built it for ourselves. Let’s find another solution.” He frowned: “Are you against my mother?” I almost shouted. Against? No! I just want to protect our peace. We argued for almost an hour, and at the end he said, “Think about it, Laura. If you put things this way, everything could change.” What will change? Our marriage? Our dream? I went to bed with a heavy heart, but I won’t give in.

Now I’m thinking about it. Maybe a compromise: Carmen coming for a few weeks, but not forever. Or renting her an apartment nearby? I’m willing to help, but not to sacrifice my home. And I’m afraid Javier will choose his mother, and then we’ll have to decide what we do. It’s scary, but I can’t stay silent. We fought so hard for this apartment, for our lives. I won’t let it become a foreign space.

My mother, upon finding out, told me: “Laura, defend what’s yours. Your home is your refuge, and you must protect it.” She’s right. I don’t want to fight with Javier, but I don’t want to give up either. Carmen may be a good person, but she must respect our boundaries. And Javier has to choose: his mother’s well-being or our marriage. I’m confident we’ll find a solution, but I’m prepared to fight. Because this apartment isn’t just walls. It’s our dream. And I won’t give it up to anyone.

Life teaches us that sometimes defending what we love hurts. But giving in out of fear of conflict can cost us even more. True love doesn’t require sacrificing happiness, but rather finding a path where everyone is respected.