My FIL Treated Me Like a Maid – He Didn’t Expect My Reaction

I believed we were doing my father-in-law a favor when he moved into our house. However, his presence quickly evolved into something I never could have predicted, one that put my marriage, my patience, and my limits to the test.

My father-in-law, Frank, appeared completely bewildered when my mother-in-law abruptly landed up in the hospital. For everything, including cooking, cleaning, and even remembering to take his medication, he had always relied on her. He was like a ship without a rudder without her.

He confessed, “I don’t know what to do with myself,” when my husband, Brian, and I went to see him a few days after the event. His shoulders slumped, and he spoke in a low, happy voice.

Brian gave me the look that signaled he was going to make a snap decision that I would have to deal with later, and he grasped my hand. As expected, he turned to face his father and said, “How about you come spend some time with us? It will be preferable to being by yourself.

Before I could comprehend what had just transpired, Frank’s eyes glowed and he was bringing an unsettling number of suitcases into our guest room for someone who said it was “temporary.”

It was all right at first. He was a little bashful about imposing, but he appeared appreciative. Then, however, minor changes began to occur.

He yelled out, “Hey, dear,” one afternoon as I was on a business Zoom call. “Will you get me a cup of coffee? I am unable to locate the pods.

I answered, “They’re right on the counter,”

“Yeah, but you know how to work the machine better,” he told me, laughing as if this were something I would like.

“Can you fix me a sandwich?” was the next question. and “Remember that I prefer my toast to be golden in the mornings.” He even gave me his clothing in a basket one day and said, “I’ll need these for golf tomorrow.” Regards, daughter.

Brian was “too busy” to notice each time. However, my patience? The thinness of that was perilous. How much longer I could play along was uncertain to me.

One Thursday night, a night I will never forget, was the tipping point. Apparently without consulting me beforehand, my father-in-law made the decision to throw a poker night at our house.

“Just a couple of guys, nothing big,” he had stated that morning while grinning and looking through the refrigerator. “We’ll maintain cleanliness. You won’t even realize we’re here.”

Seldom notice? The living room was a smoky lair of noisy discussion, clinking chips, and laughter by 8 p.m. And me? Like an unpaid waiter, I was in the kitchen, juggling snack trays and replenishing drinks.

“Hey, we’re out of beer!” shouted one of his pals. Not even trying to up, Frank yelled out to me, “Sweetheart,” “Can you grab some from the garage?” Even though my blood was boiling, I clamped my jaw and took the beer.

“A little more ice,” another of his companions said, tapping his glass, and I almost burst out laughing.

I heard Frank laughing and telling Brian, “See?” as he led his friends to the door following the game. That’s the proper way to treat a woman.

I felt like I was slapped by the words. My stomach turned over as the truth set in. This was about a pattern, not just a poker night. For years, I had witnessed Frank treating my mother-in-law as though she were there only to serve him. He was now teaching my spouse to follow suit.

It was barely perceptible at first. “Hey, can you grab me a drink while you’re up?” Even when I wasn’t standing yet, Brian would ask. I didn’t give it much thought at first because he had always been kind and good at dividing up the work. However, those minor favors later become demands.

Brian came by with a dish from his dinner one evening as I was folding laundry. He left it on the coffee table rather than in the sink, as he usually did. He didn’t even pause to ask, “Can you take care of that?”

He once walked into the kitchen while I was in the middle of making dinner. As if to lighten the demand, he kissed my cheek and remarked, “Remember, I need my blue shirt ironed for tomorrow.”

That was it. “No, Brian,” I firmly stated. “I’ve given it enough thought. You both must realize that this is the end of it. I am not his maid, and I am also not yours.

There was a lot of tension in the room, and as I left, I could see Brian’s face in shock, convinced that this was going to change—for forever.

The following morning, following a restless night of fuming and planning, I took my laptop to the dining table and started creating a “rental agreement.” I needed strict, unambiguous standards, but I wasn’t going to charge Frank rent. Things were going to alter if he was going to remain in our home.

The guidelines were straightforward yet unalterable:

Every day, I prepare one dish for everyone. One can prepare their own food if they prefer something different.

You do things yourself if you are physically able to do them, such as getting drinks, doing laundry, and cleaning up after meals.

Everyone does their own cleanup. Dishes are placed in the dishwasher rather than the sink. The individual who wore the laundry will fold and store it.

You are in charge of providing everything for visitors, including food, beverages, and cleanup.

No sexist remarks or actions—this house is based on respect for one another, period.

Participation in family tasks is required; it is not optional. You contribute because you live here.

I waited for Frank to enter the kitchen after printing it out and stapling the pages together. When he saw me sitting there drinking coffee and holding a physical copy of the regulations in front of me, he appeared surprised.

“Morning,” he responded warily, seeing my change in attitude.

“Morning,” I said as I pushed the paper in his direction. “We need to talk.”

Glancing at the first page, he frowned and questioned, “What’s this?”

“It’s a rental agreement for staying in this house,” I stated nonchalantly. “These are the rules moving forward.”

Frank’s face flushed as he blinked at me. “Rules? The army, what are you? You have me as a guest.

“No,” I snapped back. “You are no longer a visitor. You’ve spent weeks here. You don’t have the right to relax while everyone else waits for you because you’re family. If you’re remaining here, this is how things will go.”

Halfway through the conversation, Brian entered, wiping his eyes and yawning. He glanced between us and asked, “What’s going on?”

Frank slapped the document on the table and said, “Your wife is trying to turn this house into a dictatorship.”

Brian grabbed the contract and quickly read it. He paused and added, “Uh, isn’t this a bit… much?”

“No, Brian,” I responded as I looked him in the eyes. To what extent is your father treating me as though I were his servant? And you’ve been doing the same lately. Today is the last day of that.

There was silence in the room. Frank appeared on the verge of blowing out, while Brian appeared conflicted. But without flinching, I stood my ground.

“You can either find somewhere else to stay or follow the rules,” I stated as I got to my feet.

When Frank realized I wasn’t bluffing, he closed his lips to argue. I felt in charge for the first time in weeks, and I wasn’t going to let it go.

I was anxious and relieved when my mother-in-law, Sarah, eventually returned home from the hospital. I was both relieved since Frank had been a pain in the ass and anxious because I didn’t know how she would respond to what I had done.

I slipped the “rental agreement” across the table as she sat down on the couch and drank the tea I had prepared for her. “Sarah,” I said, carefully selecting my words, “I need you to see this. While Frank was staying here, I worked on it.”

As she read, her lips initially tightened and her brows furrowed. When she reached Rule 5, she gave me a knowing smile as she looked up. She remarked, “Oh, I like this one,” “Respect for one another. A new idea for him.

Thankful that she didn’t seem insulted, I let out a breath. I said, “I know you care deeply about him,” as I sat next to her. However, he has been depending on you for far too long, Sarah. You’re not treated fairly. And let’s just say that I became aware of how much you’ve been carrying for all these years when he was here.”

Her eyes grew softer, and I briefly noticed a glimmer of fatigue. Silently, “You’re right,” she said. Since the day we were married, things have been this way. I simply believed it to be my job.

I firmly answered, “No,” and took her hand. “He needs to take the initiative now. For his sake, not just yours.

Sarah shook her head and laughed. “I wish I’d done this years ago.”

Sarah flashed the paper at Frank as he entered the room. She said, “You’ve got work to do, mister,” in a lighthearted yet authoritative tone.

He mumbled something about a conspiracy while he moaned, but Sarah refused to back down.

I couldn’t help but smile as they entered the kitchen together. For the first time, Sarah didn’t feel like she was alone with the whole thing.

Brian remarked, “Hey,” as he approached me from behind. “You really think he’ll stick to it?”

I turned to see Sarah giving Frank a dish towel as she led him to the sink. He simply began drying for the first time without arguing.

With a calm voice, I grinned. “He has no other option. Because we’re all following the rules this time.”

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