The words my mother said pierced my heart like a knife. I had always believed that if I could just endure three years of living with my wife’s family, I would have everything I desired. But now, my life is slowly transforming me into a coward and a weakling.

I come from a rural background, and my family has always struggled financially. I’ve always dreamed of a better life in the city, away from poverty. From the final years of middle school and throughout high school, I was aware that my only way out was to study hard and secure a well-paying job.

I worked relentlessly, and eventually, I got into a prestigious university in the capital, studying a promising field. However, once I arrived in the city, I quickly realized that life here was far more difficult than I had imagined. Everything was so expensive, and the money my parents sent me was barely enough to cover my basic needs, despite my strict budgeting. By my second year, I started working part-time jobs, but they only allowed me to live slightly more comfortably. My dream of earning enough money, buying a house, and becoming a city person felt increasingly out of reach.

After many sleepless nights of contemplation, I decided to take a shortcut to achieve my goals: I would marry a wealthy woman from the city. So, I began looking for potential partners, setting aside any natural feelings of attraction in favor of financial security.

I was rejected many times by the daughters of affluent families. Once they learned of my background, they dismissed me without hesitation. However, after a few years of working, I finally caught the eye of the daughter of a high-ranking boss. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, and she was two years older than me. In truth, I wasn’t drawn to her, but because of my ambitions, I persisted, flirting with her, and eventually, she fell for me. We officially became a couple.

When I met her family, I could feel their disdain for me, but I endured it. Her parents disapproved of our relationship, but their daughter was determined, so they reluctantly agreed to let us marry, with one condition: I had to live with her parents for three years. If all went well, they would buy us a house to live in separately.

At that time, seeing her family’s luxurious home, I didn’t think twice and agreed to the arrangement. I even secretly hoped for an inheritance from my wife in the future. But after the wedding, I felt suffocated.

When I went to work, everything was fine. But as soon as I came home, I had to constantly be aware of the family’s expectations. I had to play the role of the loving husband, the dutiful son-in-law, and the respectful younger brother-in-law. Even though I ate well, dressed well, and had a housekeeper, I felt like a servant.

I had to ask permission for everything, even to go anywhere far. My wife’s parents didn’t like me visiting my own family, so my trips home became fewer and fewer. Even during the Lunar New Year, I could only spend one day with my parents before returning to my wife’s family. Although I gave my parents more money, seeing their sad eyes made me feel guilty.

After nearly a year of marriage, my wife became pregnant. She became more demanding and difficult to please, but I kept trying. When she gave birth to our son, the entire family celebrated, and I felt a renewed sense of determination to endure the three years.

When my parents visited to see their grandchild, they were met with coldness and disdain from my wife’s family. They criticized the gifts my parents brought, forbidding them to come close to the baby for fear of germs.

My parents suggested that once the baby was older, we should take him to visit them in the countryside. My wife’s mother, however, mocked them: “Why take the baby to the countryside? If he’s smart, he should stay here with us. Don’t bring him to that poor place.”

My parents’ faces darkened, knowing the situation, and they didn’t argue. I felt sorry for them, so I took the risk of speaking up. I told my mother-in-law that my family, though from the countryside, was clean and that it was normal for grandparents to want to visit their grandchild.

To my surprise, I was met with harsh words from my in-laws: “How dare you lecture us! If you’re so smart, why don’t you go live there? Stop clinging to our house. Your wife is foolish for choosing you, but we know exactly what you want. Don’t get too comfortable here.”

I felt humiliated and ashamed in front of my parents, but I could only bow my head in silence. As I saw my parents off, my mother cried, saying, “Why are you living like this, son? What’s the point of being rich and living in luxury if you can’t even be yourself?”

My mother’s words felt like a knife cutting through my heart, and I bled. I had once thought that three years of hardship would lead to everything I wanted, but now, I was slowly being transformed into someone weak and incapable. I felt useless and angry because I couldn’t defend my own parents.

I’ve thought about divorce as a way to escape, but if I did that, all my efforts would have been in vain. Besides, my son is still so young, and I love him dearly. I fear losing him. I’m asking for advice—what should I do?