My In-Laws Helped Us Purchase This Home—Now They Treat Me Like I Belong to Them

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. My stomach did it for him.

I packed a bag and texted Soraya. No shouting. No slammed doors. I left—because the person I needed to protect was me. I told Aarav I needed time. He didn’t fight me. That said more than anything else.

A week later, I asked him to meet me at the café where we’d once argued about which side of town had better coffee. He arrived with tired eyes and an apology ready. “I’m sorry,” he said.

I nodded. “Sorry’s not enough. I want to buy them out.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I want to repay every cent of the down payment. With interest, if they ask. We’ll sell the car. I’ll take a second job. We’ll cut everything we can. But I’m done living like a guest under chaperones.”

He stared at me, then said, “Let me talk to them.”

It went exactly as you’d expect. Priya called me ungrateful. Rajan gave a speech about duty and sacrifice. They were offended by the idea that generosity could be returned—as if repayment erased the gesture. Then something unexpected happened: Aarav didn’t fold.

He told them their constant presence was suffocating us. That financial help didn’t entitle them to my pantry, my mail, or my privacy. That if they couldn’t respect boundaries, we’d build our own—brick by brick, paycheck by paycheck. It was the first time I’d seen him hold his ground.

We became the kind of couple with lists taped to the fridge. We sold the car. I picked up weekend shifts at a boutique. Aarav took late-night consulting gigs. We turned off the AC during the heatwave, canceled subscriptions, and learned how to stretch lentils and zucchini into three meals. It wasn’t glamorous. It was exhausting. But each payment chipped away at a weight I’d been pretending not to feel.

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