«Don’t you dare argue with my wife in her house!» he yelled at me with a voice that sounded like a stranger’s. «This is her house now too, and if she wants to move the plants, she’ll move them. You have no right to forbid her from doing anything.»
I froze. Her house. My son had called my house—the house that I had built brick by brick, paying for every cent with my sweat and my tears—her house, referring to Rebecca. And I, the real owner, had no right to an opinion. Rebecca stood behind Ethan with her arms crossed and a little smirk of satisfaction. She had gotten what she wanted. She had turned my son against me. She had gotten him to yell at me and disrespect me. She looked so pleased, so sure of her victory.
I told Ethan to lower his voice, that I was his mother and I deserved respect, that we could talk like adults without needing to shout. But he kept yelling, telling me I was a stubborn old woman who didn’t understand that things had changed, that it wasn’t just my house anymore. Rebecca came over and put her hand on Ethan’s arm as if to comfort him, as if I were the villain in the story. She told him in a syrupy voice not to get upset, that I was from another generation and it was hard for me to adapt to change. She spoke about me as if I were a spoiled child or a senile old woman.
In that moment, something inside me broke. It wasn’t just about the plants or Ethan’s words or Rebecca’s mocking smile. It was about everything combined: the months of small humiliations, of silent slights, of feeling invisible in my own home. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t give them the show they were waiting for. I looked at both of them in silence for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. Then I turned around and went to my room without saying a word.
That night, lying in my bed, I made a decision. I was not going to let them treat me like this anymore. I was not going to beg for respect in my own house. I was not going to walk on eggshells to avoid bothering Princess Rebecca and my son, who had become her servant.
The next day was Friday. Ethan and Rebecca had a habit of going out on Friday nights and coming back very late. That Friday, after they left, I did something I never thought I’d have to do. I called a locksmith. I explained the situation to the man who came. He was an older man, about sixty, who listened to me patiently. He told me he’d seen many similar cases and that it was becoming more common for grown children to disrespect their parents. He changed all the locks on the house for $150.
I also called Vincent and told him everything that had happened. My younger son was furious when I explained how Ethan had yelled at me and how Rebecca had disrespected me. He told me I did the right thing by changing the locks and that it was about time I set some boundaries. Vincent offered to let me stay at his apartment that night, but I said no. This was my house, my home, the place I had built with so much effort. I wasn’t going to be the one to leave. If someone had to find another place to live, it wasn’t the owner of the property.
I went to bed early that Friday, but I couldn’t sleep. I knew that when Ethan and Rebecca came back and couldn’t get in, there was going to be a huge problem. But I also knew there was no turning back. I had already made the decision to reclaim my dignity. Around one in the morning, I heard Ethan’s car pull up, then his footsteps at the entrance, and the sound of a key trying to open the door.
Silence. More jangling of keys. Rebecca telling him maybe he had the wrong key. Ethan trying every key on his keychain. Then I heard their voices getting agitated, with Rebecca asking what was wrong and why they couldn’t get in. Ethan said the keys didn’t work and that something was wrong with the lock. I heard them walking around the house, trying to find an open window, knocking on doors.
Finally, Ethan started banging on the front door, shouting my name. «Mom, open the door! Mom, what’s going on?»
Rebecca was also yelling, asking why I had changed the locks and telling me it was a childish act of revenge. I stayed in my bed in silence, listening to them get desperate outside. For the first time in months, I felt in control of the situation. For the first time, they were the ones outside begging, and I was the one with the power to decide.
Ethan kept knocking for half an hour. His voice grew more desperate. «Mom, please, we’re cold. Mom, we just want to come in and sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow, but just let us in now.»
Rebecca had stopped shouting and was now talking to Ethan in a low voice. She was probably telling him to call my phone, to find a hotel, to do something to resolve the situation. But I had already unplugged the house phone. After a while, I heard them leave. They probably went to find a motel to spend the night. I stayed awake until dawn, feeling a mix of sadness and relief: sadness for having to go to such extremes with my own son, and relief for having reclaimed the peace of my home.
On Saturday morning, I got up early as always. I made coffee, watered my plants, and cleaned the house, all in silence, without rushing, without having to listen to complaints about my way of doing things. It was the first morning in months that I had breakfast in peace in my own kitchen. Around ten in the morning, my cell phone started ringing. It was Ethan. His voice sounded tired and defeated.
«Mom, we need to talk. We’re at Rebecca’s friend’s house, but we at least need to get our clothes and our things.»
«We can talk,» I told him, «but first you have to apologize to me for yelling at me, for disrespecting me in my own house.»
There was a long silence. Then he said yes, he was wrong, and that we could fix things if I opened the door for them. But I had already learned that Ethan’s promises weren’t worth anything anymore. As long as Rebecca was manipulating him, he would always put her first.
«If you want to talk, you can come alone,» I told him. «Rebecca is not welcome in my house until she apologizes to me for all the disrespect.»
Ethan told me that was impossible, that Rebecca was his wife and they went everywhere together. He said that if I didn’t receive both of them, then neither would come. I told him that was fine, that it was his decision, and I hung up the phone. Throughout Saturday, Ethan called me five more times. Each call was more desperate than the last.
By the third call, he no longer sounded angry; he sounded worried. He told me they needed to get their work clothes for Monday, that they had important documents in their room, and that it wasn’t fair for me to punish them like this.
I replied that I wasn’t punishing them. «I have simply decided that only people who respect me will live in my house. If you want to continue living with me, you have to choose between your wife and your mother. You can’t have it both ways anymore.»
On the fourth call, Ethan started begging. «Mom, please don’t do this. We’re a family. Rebecca is crying. She doesn’t understand why you’re so angry. We can talk and fix everything, but we need to get into the house.»
It was a lie that Rebecca was crying. That woman hadn’t shed a real tear in her entire life. But I could tell that Ethan was desperate and that he had realized I was serious this time. On the fifth call, late in the evening, Ethan changed his strategy. He told me that if I didn’t open the door, he would have to call the police, that it was illegal for me to keep them from their belongings, and that they also had rights because they had been living there.
I told him to call whoever he wanted. «The house is in my name. I pay all the bills, and I have the deed in order. The police will side with me because I am the sole legal owner of the property.»
Ethan fell silent. He knew I was right. On Sunday morning, I didn’t receive any calls. I thought maybe Ethan had gotten the message and was looking for an apartment for him and his princess. But around eleven in the morning, I heard voices outside my house. I peeked through the window and saw Ethan standing on the sidewalk, talking on the phone. He looked like he hadn’t slept well. His clothes were wrinkled, and he looked tired and desperate. Rebecca wasn’t with him. She had probably stayed at her friend’s house, waiting for Ethan to solve the problem.
Ethan hung up the phone and approached my door. He knocked softly, not like on Friday night when he had banged desperately. His voice sounded different, more humble, almost like when he was a boy and had done something mischievous.
«Mom, it’s me. Can we talk? I came alone, like you said. Please open the door.»
I hesitated for a moment. Part of me wanted to open it, to hug him, to forgive him and have everything go back to the way it was. But I knew that if I gave in now, Rebecca would return triumphant, and everything would be worse than before. I went to the door but didn’t open it.
«Where’s your wife?» I asked through the door.
«She stayed at Chloe’s, her friend’s house. I came alone because I want to talk to you. Mom, we need to fix this.»
«Did you come to apologize for yelling at me in my own house?»
Ethan took a long time to answer. «Yes, Mom, forgive me. I was wrong to yell at you. But you also have to understand that Rebecca is my wife now, and I need you two to get along.»
I opened the door and saw him. He looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, a two-day beard, and the same clothes from Friday. I felt sorry seeing him like that, but I couldn’t let that pity make me forget everything that had happened.
«Come in,» I said. «Let’s talk in the living room.»
Ethan came in and sat on the armchair where his father used to sit before he died. He ran his hands over his face and sighed deeply. I sat across from him, waiting for him to start talking.
«Mom, I know things haven’t been good lately,» he began. «Rebecca told me that you treat her badly, that you don’t accept her as part of the family. And maybe I’ve gotten too defensive of her.»
He was already starting off wrong. He still believed his wife’s version and still thought I was the villain of the story. But I decided to hear him out completely before responding.
«But, Mom,» he continued, «changing the locks was too much. You can’t just leave us on the street like that. We’re your children, your family. This is our house, too.»
I stopped him right there. «No, Ethan, this is my house. I bought it, I paid for it, and I built it. You are my son, and you will always be welcome here, but with conditions. And one of those conditions is that you respect me.»
«But I do respect you, Mom.»
«Do you respect me? Is yelling at me in front of your wife respecting me? Is telling me I have no right to an opinion about my own plants respecting me? Is allowing that woman to talk to me as if I were a burden respecting me?»
Ethan lowered his head. I knew that deep down, he knew I was right, but his pride and his emotional dependence on Rebecca wouldn’t let him fully admit it.
«Rebecca respects you, too, Mom. It’s just that you two are very different. She comes from another family. She has different customs. You need to give her time to adapt.»
«Time? Ethan, it’s been eight months since you got married. How much time does she need to learn to say please and thank you? How much time to learn not to move things around without asking?»
«Look, Mom, this is how it is. Rebecca is my wife now. I love her, and I’m always going to defend her. If you can’t accept that, then we have a very big problem.»
There it was, the truth. Ethan had come to talk to me, but he hadn’t come to truly apologize. He had come to give me an ultimatum disguised as a conversation. Either I accepted Rebecca with all her slights and mistreatment, or I lost my son forever. I was quiet for a moment, thinking about everything I had sacrificed for this son: the years working double shifts to pay for his studies, the sleepless nights when he was sick, the thousands of dollars I had spent on his education, his clothes, his whims.
«Ethan,» I said in a very calm voice, «I love you too, but love can’t be a one-way street. If you truly love me, you also have to defend me when your wife disrespects me.»
«Rebecca doesn’t disrespect you, Mom. You’re just too sensitive.»
Ethan stood up and started pacing the living room. He looked nervous, desperate. He knew the conversation wasn’t going as he had planned.
«Look, I need you to give me the new keys. Rebecca and I are going to keep living here while we save for our own apartment. But I promise we’ll talk to her so she’s more considerate of you.»
«More considerate? Ethan, your wife suggested I leave my own house. Does that seem considerate to you?»
«She was angry. She didn’t mean it.»
«Of course she meant it. And you stayed silent when she said it. That was the last straw, Ethan. My own son leaving me alone while his wife was humiliating me.»
Ethan sat down again and held his head in his hands. I could see he was struggling internally. Part of him knew I was right, but the other part couldn’t accept it because it would mean admitting he was wrong, that he had failed as a son.
