When my husband Daniel and I bought an apartment in the city and chose not to have children, I thought I’d be spared the trappings of that dreaded white picket fence.

Then last winter, Daniel’s mother slipped on some ice in her driveway and was bedridden. Being the good son that he is, he insisted we move closer to her. It took some convincing, but eventually I signed onto the idea and we moved to a house in the suburbs directly across the street from her.

It didn’t take long before I started missing the apartment. My hostility toward Daniel festered. And watching him dote on his mother — even after she quickly recovered and gained full mobility — was enraging. She bossed him around like a slave. While cleaning up the remains of one Sunday dinner, my mother-in-law made a suggestion.... Read More