This year, for the first time in ten years, I decided to celebrate my birthday at home. Before, I never had the chance—mainly because I only recently bought a place of my own. I left for Italy after my divorce.

My husband and I had been married for twenty years when one day, out of the blue, he said:

“You need to leave.”

“Where? Why?”

“Well, this house was passed down to me from my parents. You have no claim to it. And I’ve met someone else.”

He had the nerve to bring his new woman into our home, right in front of me, without shame. It was beyond humiliating. By then, our kids were already in college. I ended up staying with my sister for a while and continued working, not wanting to give up everything. But eventually, I realized I needed a place of my own, so I moved abroad to start saving up.

At first, I took any job I could find—went through a lot. But soon, I started putting money away. A few years later, my son called me. He had taken out a loan to buy an apartment but couldn’t keep up with the payments. I sent him 10,000 euros to cover the debt. Later, my daughter reached out, asking for help too—she needed money as well. I didn’t want to play favorites, so I helped her too.

But instead of buying a home, her husband convinced her to invest in some business. Not a real business like a store or something tangible—no, it was an online scam. They ended up with nothing. My daughter defended him, saying everything would turn out fine, but I wasn’t about to send them any more money. I started saving up for a home for myself.

I still helped out the kids, of course—sending small amounts here and there, along with care packages. But I wasn’t going to sacrifice my own goals anymore. In Italy, you can’t just work non-stop without any breaks—you’ll lose your mind. So, every once in a while, I treated myself to trips with friends.

Finally, after years of hard work, I saved enough to buy a small, fully renovated house. I wanted something move-in ready—no major repairs necessary. I couldn’t wait to go back home and decided to celebrate my birthday along with my housewarming. I kept the guest list small. My son and his family had moved to Poland when the war broke out. My daughter, her husband, their kids, and a few close friends came to the party. That’s when things started to go wrong.

My in-laws walked around the house, looking at everything, and making comments. Then my daughter’s mother-in-law suddenly said:

“How can you afford a house like this while our kids are struggling?”

“Haven’t I helped them enough?” I asked.

“Of course not. Give them this house. You can always buy yourself a little one-bedroom place later.”

“Not a chance. If it weren’t for your son, my daughter would already have her own home.”

“What could they have bought with just 10,000 euros? If it had been enough for a place, they would’ve bought one. Instead, they had to invest in a business. And anyway, why do you need this house? You’re going to go back to Italy eventually. Let the kids move in!”

“I don’t want to! I’ve dreamed of having my own home for my entire life, and I earned this myself. I’m not letting anyone move in just to end up having to renovate again—or worse, end up homeless.”

We got into a huge fight, and the party was ruined. My daughter got upset with me too, saying her in-laws were right and that I’d end up alone in my old age. But why should I keep sacrificing for everyone else and never do anything for myself?