Since I didn’t want to see my father-in-law’s face, my husband and I agreed to close our eyes and give my mother-in-law 2 million pesos so that she could convince us to let us live apart. From the day I got married, I had to share the house with my in-laws. The conflicts were endless, especially with my father-in-law, an authoritarian man, with a rough character and a poisonous tongue, who criticized me for every detail. Many nights I cried until I lost my strength, wishing we had our own space. But he never accepted: he insisted that his son should stay to “take care of his parents”.

Finally, with a heavy heart, we gave my mother-in-law the 2 million, on the condition that she convinced her husband. She received the money smiling from ear to ear, nodding nonstop. I sighed with relief, believing that I had finally been freed from that hell.

But when we managed to save a little more and asked my mother-in-law to pay back that money to buy a small apartment in Mexico City, she, very calmly, crossed her arms in the middle of the room and, with a mocking grimace, said:

“What money? I never received anything. This house was built by my son, the land belongs to his father… You have no right to complain.”

I froze, blood burning in my veins. But instead of crying or screaming, I just smiled. Because what she didn’t know was that, from the day we handed over that money, I had prepared a notarial act, with signatures and a video that clearly showed how she kept the wad of bills in her safe.

A few days later, when he was already planning to use the money to buy a piece of land in the name of his eldest son, the lawyer and the notary arrived at the house, presenting all the evidence. The relatives who were present murmured in surprise; She turned pale, stuttering unable to defend herself.

I looked at her calmly and blurted out only one sentence:
“What money do you say isn’t mine? Now everyone knows, Mom.”

Unable to deny any more, my mother-in-law slumped in her chair, while I breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time in so many years, I felt like I had won a fair game.

I left that house and the afternoon wind caressed my face, giving me a feeling of freedom. After so long of holding on, I could finally walk upright, without feeling humiliated.

That night, my husband took me by the hand, his eyes moistened:
“Forgive me, for having made you endure so many injustices. But thanks to you I understood that we cannot continue to live under those family chains.”

I smiled tenderly, tears rolling down my cheek. We had been through too much pain, and what awaited us now was a new beginning.

A month later, with the money recovered and our savings, we set aside a small apartment in the center of the city. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was our home, where I could organize every corner to my liking, where when I woke up I would no longer have to hear poisonous reproaches from the living room.

On the day of the move, I invited my parents and some relatives. Everyone congratulated us, and my mother hugged me tightly, saying in a broken voice,
“My daughter is now a full-fledged woman. From now on, live for yourself, don’t let anyone step on your dignity.”

Those words were like a release. I looked at my husband, and he nodded firmly. I knew then that, although the future still brought storms, this time I had really escaped the shadow of those years of humiliation.

And I whispered to myself,
“The game is over. And the winner… it’s me.”