When my husband Mike tossed $20 at me and demanded I cook a Thanksgiving feast for his family, I realized I was done being his personal chef, maid, and doormat. He thought I’d let it slide, but I planned to serve him something unforgettable this Thanksgiving. For two years, I bent over backward to keep Mike and his family happy.
But every meal I cooked and every spotless room I cleaned only seemed to remind them of what they thought I owed them. So, this year, I decided it was time to show them just how much they’d underestimated me. When Mike and I married two years ago, I thought I’d found my forever partner.
We were happy, or at least I thought we were. Then, little by little, things started to change. At first, it was the small things like Mike leaving his dirty laundry wherever he pleased or expecting me to handle the groceries.
But then his parents, Maureen and Richard, began treating me like I had married into their family to become their unpaid chef and housekeeper. Maureen would make sly comments whenever they visited. “A wife who cooks for her husband every night is a blessing,” she’d say.
Richard wasn’t much better. He was always “joking” about how I should consider opening a catering business since I was already “running one for free.” I tried to let it roll off my back, but their constant remarks and expectations were exhausting. The worst, though, was a few weeks ago.
Maureen had called, announcing that she and Richard would be “dropping by for dinner.”
Dropping by, of course, meant staying for hours and criticizing my cooking. When I suggested ordering takeout, Maureen gasped, “Takeout? For family?
Oh no, Alyssa. You’ve set the bar too high to lower it now.”
Meanwhile, Mike just shrugged and said, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Why didn’t I answer back?
Why didn’t I tell them to cook their own meals? The truth is, I wanted to keep the peace. I wanted to keep Mike happy.
But the love I had for him wore thinner with every passing day. This brings us to Thanksgiving. I knew it would be small because we’d just invited Mike’s parents and his two brothers.
But even a small Thanksgiving meant a mountain of expectations for me. Two days before the holiday, Mike decided to take his laziness to a new level. We were sitting at the kitchen table, going over our budget.
Money had been tight lately. Tight enough that I’d been quietly setting aside what little I could from grocery runs, knowing Mike’s spending habits weren’t exactly responsible. He slid the last $20 bill we had across the table and said with a grin, “Here, make Thanksgiving dinner with this.”
I laughed.
“Mike, $20? That won’t even cover a turkey.”
“Well,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “Mom always managed to make amazing dinners with no money. Figure it out.
Don’t embarrass me in front of my family.”
I couldn’t believe it. For two years, I had poured my heart into this marriage, only to have him throw this at me. As he walked away, smug and oblivious, something in me snapped.
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