Maria and Adrian had been deeply in love for two years before they married.

Back then, Adrian was gentle, attentive, and sincere. I truly believed I was the luckiest woman alive. Our wedding was celebrated with the full approval and blessings of both families.

As a wedding gift, my mother gave us a three-storey house. It was registered entirely under my name and built from her lifetime of hard work and savings. It wasn’t just a house—it was her sacrifice, her love, her legacy.

After becoming a wife and a daughter-in-law, I did everything I could to protect our small family. I worked at a bank, often leaving before sunrise and returning home late. Because of my schedule, I couldn’t always cook or manage the household the way my mother-in-law expected.

My mother-in-law, Lilibeth, was never satisfied with me. She believed a proper wife should stay home, cook every meal, and center her life around her husband. Still, I never argued. I adjusted quietly, hoping patience would earn her acceptance.

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