My MIL Wants Me to Leave, Even Though I Make $8,000 Working from Home to Support My Husband…

“With my son earning a substantial salary and you not working, it’s clear you don’t belong here. From now on, I’ll be living with him — you need to leave immediately.”

Those were the first words out of my mother-in-law’s mouth the morning she arrived unannounced, suitcase in hand, superiority already unpacked.

It was strange from the start. My husband — who usually spent mornings in his office, quietly coding with headphones on — was nowhere to be found. The apartment intercom buzzed, sharp and insistent. When I opened the door, she was already glaring at me.

“What took you so long?” she snapped. “You’re truly a useless wife. Can’t even answer a door properly.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I was working and didn’t hear—”

“Another lie.” She waved her hand dismissively, scanning the living room like it offended her. “I know you claim to ‘work from home,’ but I see no evidence of that. You don’t cook, you don’t clean — what exactly do you do all day?”

I took a slow breath, the same kind I use before client meetings when people mistake calm for weakness. “I actually run a remote consulting business. I make about eight thousand a month.”

She let out a laugh — high, brittle, full of disbelief. “Eight thousand? For what, sitting in pajamas on your laptop? You’ve done a wonderful job deceiving my son.”

Her words stung, but not because they were new. This was her favorite game — rewrite the story, erase my effort, pretend her son’s life wasn’t quietly supported by the woman standing in front of her.

And then she pulled something from her purse. A folded sheet of paper.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked, her tone smug.

I frowned. “No.”

“These,” she said, unfolding it with theatrical precision, “are divorce papers. Filled out by my son. He doesn’t want you anymore. Sign them and leave. Now.”

The pen in her hand gleamed under the kitchen light. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

For a moment, all I could hear was the hum of my laptop from the next room — the one paying the bills she thought her son handled.

My hands trembled as I reached for the paper, her gaze locked on me, expecting tears, begging, collapse.

But the thing about people like her is that they never imagine you might already know what they don’t.

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My mother, unaware of my plight, was blissfully happy. She didn’t know the truth of my situation. My name is Jasmine. I work from home as a freelance writer and editor. Until a few years ago, I was employed by a publishing company, and my experience there allowed me to maintain a steady income even as a freelancer.

Despite the instability of freelancing, I’ve managed to live comfortably thanks to my savings and past work. I met my husband Michael while working at the publishing company. He was an aspiring writer and despite making many mistakes and facing numerous rejections, he never gave up.

His determination inspired me and I found myself attracted to him. A few years after we started dating, we got married. I left my job to become a freelancer full-time. In the early years of our marriage, things went well. Although my freelancing career was still stabilizing and Michael was pursuing his dreams, we supported each other and shared household responsibilities and expenses.

However, after 2 years of marriage, my business began to stabilize. That was when Michael started telling his in-laws that he was a successful writer. In reality, he hadn’t achieved much success and had faced countless rejections. He probably wanted to reassure his parents, but it only added to the growing tensions. I was acutely aware of how much it troubled Michael to admit to his family that he was struggling as a writer.

To spare him further embarrassment, I kept quiet and played along with the facade at my in-laws house. Initially, I thought all I had to do was stay silent. But as Michael’s fabricated image of being a successful author took hold, I found it increasingly difficult to feel comfortable in his family’s presence. Not only did my in-laws buy into Michael’s story, but they began labeling me as a useless wife.

They saw me as someone who lived off her successful husband, not understanding or valuing my freelance work from home. Their lack of familiarity with my work style only fueled their misconceptions, and I couldn’t entirely blame them for that. Still, their attitude toward me grew harsher over time. Each visit to their home became a challenge.

They would question how I, a wife, who supposedly did neither work nor house chores, could justify my presence. I’ve told you many times I would explain, “I’m a freelancer, so I work from home.” We discussed sharing household duties when we got married. Their responses were dismissive and condescending. You claimed to work from home, but it’s not a real job.

You don’t earn much, and Michael supports both you and your expenses. Their criticism was relentless, and it was clear they had little respect for my work or my contributions to the household. I make a decent living and cover our expenses every month. I tried to explain. “Oh, you just don’t get it,” my mother-in-law interrupted dismissively.

“If you don’t start appreciating Michael more and showing some gratitude, I don’t know how long he’ll put up with you,” she continued. “If Michael decides to leave you, you won’t be able to support yourself.” Her harsh words were relentless. I almost sighed aloud, but managed to keep my frustration in check.

I wanted to tell her that I handle most of the household expenses and chores while Michael, who doesn’t have a job or contribute to the housework, doesn’t pull his weight. But I swallowed those words, too. Initially, I only faced sarcastic comments from my in-laws when Michael wasn’t around.

Recently, things had worsened. During a dinner invitation to their house, it became routine for them to only prepare a meal for Michael, leaving me without a seat at the table. To make matters worse, they seemed to be discussing me with our relatives, and whenever I attended family gatherings, I could sense their whispers and feel their coldness.

It was clear they spoke about me behind my back. I wasn’t particularly upset by my in-laws attitude. It was more frustration that Michael seemed to just sit back and watch without making any effort to stop them. My in-laws, convinced that Michael was a successful writer, continually asked him to buy them things. Michael, eager to impress his parents, would purchase whatever they requested, even if the items in question were still perfectly usable.

As a result, I found myself spending nearly $2,000 a month on them, all from the money I earned. Michael began taking money from my account and wallet without my knowledge, handing it over to his parents. At first, I turned a blind eye to the smaller amounts. When it became too much to ignore, I confronted Michael.

Michael, please don’t spend my money without my permission. I said, he looked at me with irritation. You work from home and have an easy job, don’t you? It’s like you’re just playing around and getting paid for it. If you earn money so easily, why not spend a little on my mother? Don’t be so stingy.

Is that how you see my job? I asked. Hurt? Yes, it’s a job where I stay home. But it’s not as easy as you think. Michael scoffed, dismissing my concerns. I think it’s an easy job because you’re home all day, he said, laughing as he walked away, heading to his room. Watching him retreat, I realized that I had reached my breaking point. I couldn’t endure any more of this.

I would divorce him. I had always believed that Michael was on my side despite what his parents said. I tried my best to support him, but even he was mocking me. I knew he spent hours in his room, but he never wrote a single word of his manuscript. Instead, he played computer games all day. When I first met Michael, he was incredibly dedicated to his work, passionate about writing something truly captivating.

But now that determined Michael seems to be a distant memory. Instead, I see only the man who along with his in-laws mocks me. I decided to start looking for a single person apartment quietly. As I searched for a new place, I gradually packed up my belongings, preparing to leave at a moment’s notice. Not long after, I found an apartment I liked and had already seen it.

One day, while Michael was out, my mother-in-law showed up at our house unannounced. She rang the intercom with enthusiasm and made herself at home, sitting down on the sofa in the living room as if it were her own. “Jasmine, you need to get out of this house,” she declared abruptly. “What are you talking about?” I asked bewildered.

“I’ve been telling you for a while now,” she said. “You’re unemployed and still don’t do any house chores. You’re nothing more than a useless wife. There’s no way Michael, a successful writer, is compatible with you. I’ve told you many times you’re mistaken about. But my mother-in-law cut me off. Continuing with her tirade. If you leave, I’ll move in here.

That way, I can cook for Michael everyday without having to deal with you. And you know how picky that woman is about seasoning. Her words were harsh, and I felt the weight of her disdain. I knew it was time to move on. After dealing with her picky preferences and the constant dust while cleaning, I realized I could no longer live with her, I decided to stay with Michael and arrange for her to move into a nursing home.

How are you going to pay for a nursing home? My mother-in-law asked. I’ll have Michael cover the expenses, I said. He’s earning a good income, so it shouldn’t be a big deal for him. You’re getting in my way. Just get out of here. she snapped. With that, she handed me a set of filled out divorce papers. “Why do you have these?” I asked, bewildered.

“I had him fill them out a while ago,” she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction. I told him to get a divorce from you as soon as possible. “I took the papers from her, noting that they were completed in Michael’s handwriting.” A smirk played on my mother-in-law’s face as she watched me.

This actually worked in my favor. Although I was ready to move out, I had been concerned about how the divorce process would unfold. I worried that Michael, not wanting to give up his current situation, might resist signing the papers. Seeing them filled out already gave me a sense of relief. It was one less obstacle to worry about.

I had braced myself for a lengthy discussion and potential conflict. So, it was a stroke of luck that the divorce papers were handed to me so easily. My mother-in-law seemed a bit takenback by how quickly I signed the papers, but she soon composed herself and took on her usual stance. Now, get out of here, she demanded.

Leave the furniture behind. Everything was bought with Michael’s money, so you can’t take anything with you. She laughed clearly pleased with herself. I packed up my belongings swiftly and moved into the new apartment. On my way, I filed the divorce papers at the municipal office, marking the beginning of my new independent life.

I was pleasantly surprised at how peaceful and undisturbed it was to live alone. Without interruptions or mockery, I noticed my work seemed to be progressing better than ever. 3 days into my new life, while working from home, I received a call from Michael. His voice, drenched in desperation, was unlike anything I had heard before.

Please come home, he pleaded, sounding utterly pathetic. What’s wrong now? I asked, puzzled. I’m sorry. I apologize. Please come back. I’m not coming back. We’re already divorced. I never agreed to the divorce. That doesn’t count. Those divorce papers were just a threat. I didn’t mean to actually divorce you, but you signed them. It’s done.

You don’t need a wife who just plays around all day, works an easy job, and doesn’t handle any of the house chores. You’re living with the family you love so much now. What’s the problem? I’m sorry, but my family believes I’m a successful writer. They quit their jobs and moved here expecting to live off me.

On top of that, they’re insisting that I cover grandma’s surgery, and I just don’t have that kind of money. I see. So, you want me to come back? Yes. And now that they know I’ve been lying to them. My parents are furious with me. They’re all demanding that I bring you back immediately. You can see how difficult this situation is for me.

Please come back. Let’s live together again. Do you really think I’m going to agree to that? Replied. I’ve told you repeatedly that we’re divorced. You need to deal with your own problems. Don’t be like that, Jasmine. Despite my firm refusal, Michael kept insisting, refusing to let go. I reminded him, “I’ve told you countless times that we’re strangers now that we’re divorced. It’s frustrating.

” All right. If you’re so insistent on divorcing me, Michael said, “Then you should be responsible for paying for my parents’ care and alimony. You should have taken care of that when we were married.” “Are you serious?” I asked, astonished. If you hadn’t divorced me, we would have had to pay for their care ourselves.

You should be the one to handle it now. They found out I was lying about being a successful writer, and my parents are upset and emotionally hurt because of your selfish decision to divorce. I can’t pay alimony. I don’t even understand why you think I should. You were the one who called me a jobless, useless wife. Whether it was out of pride or not, you were the one who lied about me and caused me pain.

Your parents and relatives believed your lies and blamed me. I was hurt far more than you can imagine. I’m not interested in reconciling with someone who made fun of me instead of standing by me. If you need money, why not borrow it from a bank or elsewhere? I added my patience wearing thin. I ended the call with Michael before he could respond, blocking his number and changing it immediately.

A few months later, I happened to pass by my former in-laws house. It had been sold and transformed into a parking lot, leaving no trace of the home that once was. As I stood there, a neighbor who was returning from shopping approached me. She mentioned that Michael’s family had been forced to move into an old apartment after running out of money and becoming unemployed.

The neighbor recounted how the family had been embroiled in constant arguments, their disputes loud enough to be heard outside. Their noise had been so disruptive that the police had been called several times. She gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and said, “You had a tough time, too.” before quickly walking away.

I looked back at the spot where my former in-laws house once stood. Michael’s attempts to present himself as successful had led him deeper into deception, and the gap between his lies and reality had only widened over time. The outcome was far more dramatic than I had ever expected. It was almost like something out of a novel, small lies spiraling into a catastrophic end.

I wondered if Michael, who had aspired to be a writer, could have ever anticipated such a downfall. Although I feel a twinge of pity for him, knowing he destroyed himself through deceit and the pursuit of superficial glory, I also see this as a valuable lesson. I’m determined to learn from his mistakes and ensure that I never follow the same path.