Our first apartment was meant to be the start of our future. Though my husband Alex and I paid the mortgage together, the truth was that my parents had covered most of the down payment—and quietly protected me because they didn’t trust his mother.
At our housewarming, my MIL publicly announced that we should give the apartment to Alex’s sister, a single mom. To my shock, Alex agreed, suggesting we move in with his mother and let my parents help us buy another place later.
Before I could even react, my mother calmly shut it down. She revealed the truth: the apartment was legally mine alone. Alex owned nothing. The prenup made that clear.
My in-laws unraveled. My father called Alex out for letting his mother control his marriage and trying to steal from his wife. Then he told Alex to leave.
A week later, Alex asked to meet and begged to fix things. He said he loved me. I told him love doesn’t excuse betrayal—or treating your wife like a resource.
I paid for my coffee, said goodbye, and walked away.
The apartment stayed mine.
And so did my self-respect.