Family Feud: The Unfolding Saga of My Husband, My Mom, and the Rent Drama

The Saga of My Husband, My Mom, and Rent: A Family Drama

The intricate webs of love, hate, and, it seems, rent—oh, the joys of family relations. How about if I began by telling you a little tale from the front lines of my own soap opera?

Consider the following: Mom is depressed and alone after Dad has died away and entered the great beyond. Thus, partially out of compassion and partially out of shear guilt, I naturally suggest that she move in with us. You know, to interact with the grandkids and experience the comfort of family.

This brings me my husband, who has clearly been taking the “How to Be a Loving Family Man” course. He refused at first, but after some clever negotiating on my side, he reluctantly agreed—but only on one condition. And here’s the worst part—my distressed mother would have to foot the bill.

It’s true that you read accurately. Pay the rent on a house we now own and don’t rent. Begin to laugh or cry. What is his reasoning? With a smile I can only describe as nasty, he answered, “Your mother is a leech.” “She refuses to leave once she moves in with us.”

He kept thinking about a runaway train that was going to fall off a cliff. She will use our food and electricity, thus it just doesn’t make sense for her to use anything for free. This is not a hotel, and she needs to understand that!

I knew something was wrong because my blood was boiling. My marriage to a man who appeared to think he was the Ritz-Carlton’s management is the cause of this problem. What bravery! He’s imposing capitalist rules as if we were running a profitable Airbnb, despite the fact that we both contributed to the house’s purchase and now have equal rights to it.

The worst thing is that my partner isn’t a bad person. Actually, not at all. My mother and I have just never agreed on anything. The night he became Mr. Rent Collector, he told me the truth about how he truly felt. “Your mother hated me from the moment I met her. Living with me right now wouldn’t make her comfortable.

Consequently, I find myself divided between my husband—who I genuinely love despite his flaws—and my mother, who desperately needs her daughter’s support. Here’s the million-dollar question for you, dear reader: What should I do? in a very spectacular fashion. Should I lease my husband’s compassion or my mother’s room?