Sometimes I feel like slamming the door in my in-laws’ faces—their audacity is destroying my life.
In a small town near Segovia, where old fences guard the secrets of neighborhood gossip, my life at 33 has become a constant spectacle for them. My name is Lucía, and I’m married to Javier, whose parents, Carmen and Andrés, have turned my house into their private dining room. His weekly visits, his lack of consideration, and his indifference drive me to the limit, and I don’t know how to stop him without breaking up my marriage.
**The family I wanted to please**
When I married Javier, I dreamed of warm family afternoons, with children, with harmony. Javier is kind, hardworking, and I loved him with all my heart. His parents, Carmen and Andrés, seemed like normal people: simple, country folk, with boisterous laughter and a habit of speaking without filters. I thought I’d be able to understand them. But after the wedding, their “sincerity” turned into rudeness, and their visits, torture.
We live in a small apartment, bought with a mortgage. Our three-year-old son, Diego, is the center of our universe. I work as an administrator at a local company; Javier is a car mechanic. Life isn’t easy, but we make it through. However, every Sunday, as if it were a ritual, my in-laws show up unannounced, and my home becomes their territory. They don’t knock, they don’t ask—they just arrive, and I, like a fool, run to serve them food.
**Shameless without borders**
They arrive empty-handed, but leave stuffed to the gills with food. Carmen sits down and orders: “Lucia, bring me a plate of stew, and make it really heavy.” Andrés demands chorizo and wine, and I, like a waitress, wander around the kitchen. When they leave, they leave mountains of dirty dishes, crumbs on the floor, and an empty refrigerator. I once told a story: in a single visit, they ate half a kilo of meat, a dozen eggs, and two liters of gazpacho. And they don’t even say “thank you”—for them, that’s normal.
But the worst part is her attitude. Carmen criticizes everything: how I cook, how I take care of Diego, how I clean. “Lucia, this stew is bland, and the baby looks pale; you’re not feeding him well,” she says as she devours my food. Andrés nods, and Javier remains silent, as if nothing were happening. I tried to imply that I was exhausted, but my mother-in-law interrupted me: “You’re young, you need to wake up.” Her nerve is like a poison that slowly poisons me.
**My husband’s silence**
I tried to talk to Javier. After another visit from his parents, while I was washing dishes until dawn, I said to him, “Javi, they’re coming at me like this is a bar, and I can’t take it anymore.” He shrugged: “They’re my parents, they’ve always been like that. Don’t dwell on it.” His words hurt me. Doesn’t he really see that I’m on edge? I love him, but his silence makes me feel alone in my own house. I feel like I’m fighting not only against my in-laws, but against him.
Diego already notices my tension. He asks, “Mom, why are you sad?” I smile, but inside, everything screams. I want my son to grow up in a home filled with love, not resentment. But every visit from my in-laws is a source of stress I can’t hide. Sometimes I fantasize about slamming the door in their faces, but I’m terrified: What will Javier say? What will the neighbors think? And how will I live with this guilt?
**The straw that broke the camel’s back**
They came back yesterday. I spent three hours cooking: stew, croquettes, salad, cake. They ate, they praised me, but not a word of thanks. When I asked Carmen to help with the dishes, she snorted: “Am I your maid? You’re the owner, so take care of it.” Javier said nothing, and I felt something break inside me. I no longer want to be his cook, his cleaner, his shadow. My house is not his restaurant, and I am not his maid.
I’ve decided to give an ultimatum. I’ll tell Javier: either he talks to his parents, or I’ll stop seeing them. They can either bring food, help, or not at all. I know there’ll be an uproar. Carmen will call me ungrateful, Andrés will snarl, and Javier might get angry. But I can’t continue living in this slavery.
**My cry for freedom**
This story is my protest for the right to be the owner of my life. My in-laws may not understand how their impudence destroys me. Javier may love me, but his silence suffocates me. I want my house to be mine, for Diego to see a happy mother, to be able to breathe in peace. At 33, I deserve respect, even if I have to close the door on them.
I don’t know how this conversation will end, but I won’t give in. Let it be a battle, but I’m ready. My family is Javier, Diego, and me, and I won’t allow anyone to turn my home into their dining room. Let them leave empty-handed; I will regain my dignity.
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