My husband was used to talking to me disrespectfully throughout our relationship, but the last straw had me seeing red! I lashed out by teaching him a lesson he’d never forget and ended our marriage! It began on a seemingly mundane weekend, the kind with an endless cycle of household chores and work obligations.
My husband, often playful but sometimes cutting with his humor, had taken his jests a step too far this time.
Honestly, for the past two years of our marriage, he has been rude to me all the time.
According to him, everything I did was wrong.
He’d criticize me, telling me I am not keeping the house right, that I have become overweight and ugly, and mainly that my food is bad! Cooking has never been my forte, according to him.
“You don’t know how to do anything at all; you can’t even perform your main function properly,” he’d say, half-teasing, half-serious.
But recently, his words pierced deeper than he realized. Last weekend, as I navigated the kitchen trying to prepare a dinner that I hoped could potentially soften his critiques, I made pasta.
Not just any pasta—a chunky sauce with meatballs and veggies, the kind that simmers on the stove for hours, melding flavors into a comforting embrace.
My husband was deep in work for his business, trying to meet a deadline, so I didn’t mind handling the cooking and really applied myself this time.
“Dinner is ready,” I announced, hoping for a moment of peace, a ceasefire in our ongoing culinary war. “What kind of garbage is for dinner today?” he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain and a great emphasis on the word “garbage” without even seeing what I’d prepared.
That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Exhausted from working as a nurse and wounded by memories of past abuses tied to such derogatory words, I reacted.
The pot of sauce, my afternoon’s labor of love, crashed to the floor, splattering the living room rug in a vivid display of my frustration.
I made this declaration before storming out:
“Well, nothing’s for dinner tonight now.
And I better not hear you using that word again or speaking to me that way.”
Instead of adhering to my discomfort and upset, he was more worried about his precious rug. “That is a very expensive rug, Jenna!
How could you drop food on it like that, I was just joking anyway!” he tried to brush me off.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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