Moving in with my mother was supposed to give my fiancé Joseph and me a break while we saved for our own place. Instead, it tore us apart and forced us to leave in secret.

Joseph didn’t just move in with me—he moved in with my mom. We thought it would be short-term, just a few months. Mom’s house was small but cozy, and she was generous, cooking and doing laundry for us. But the close quarters brought tension none of us expected.

One night, Joseph calmly told us his money was disappearing—$500 missing from his wallet over a few days. Mom laughed it off, but her reaction felt off. When Joseph pressed, she got defensive and stormed off.

For days after, Joseph guarded his wallet like a treasure. Mom gave us the silent treatment but kept doing chores. Then, one night, I caught her in the kitchen holding Joseph’s wallet and quietly taking cash. When I confronted her, she admitted she was “collecting rent” without telling us because she felt we were disrespectful freeloaders.

Her excuse stung. The mom who once cared for me had become someone I barely recognized. We packed quietly while she was out and left a note: “We needed space. You know why.”

She didn’t reach out for two weeks—then finally called to apologize. I forgave her but told her we weren’t coming back. Now, we see her occasionally, and from a distance, loving her is easier.