He eats enough for three, yet thinks only of himself I didnt sign up to be a wifejust a walking pantry.
I used to think fridge locks were a jokeone of those absurd memes you see online. Then I saw one with my own eyesa heavy padlock with a tiny key, right there in the hardware shop. I stood frozen, staring at it, and for the first time, I seriously thought: *Maybe I should buy it.* Not to protect the food from the kids or thieves. From my own husband.
My names Charlotte, Im thirty, and I live with my husband and our daughter in Manchester. I work hard, always on the go, like a headless chicken, as we say here. But despite all the chaos, what exhausts me most isnt my job or my childits the man I share my home with. My husband, James, sees nothing but his plate. He eats. Constantly. Without restraint, without thought, without remorse.
I come home tired, knowing theres something left in the fridge for dinnera bit of roast, some cheese, maybe yoghurt for my daughter. But when I open the door, its all gone. Not just nibbled atcompletely vanished. Quietly, without a word, hes devoured it all. Overnight. Sausages, cheese, even the raspberries I bought for my daughtergone, as if swallowed by a black hole.
The other day, I bought strawberries for my little girl. Do you know how much they cost off-season? But she spotted them at the market and begged. I couldnt say no. At home, she savoured them carefully, so happy Id set some aside for the next day, tucked in the fridge. By morning, the bowl was empty. Hed eaten every last one. And he had the nerve to laugh: Well, just buy more! Weve got the money, whats the issue?
The issue, James, is you never *think*! Not about your daughter, not about me! You didnt ask, you didnt consideryou just gobbled it down like it was yours by right. And me? Im just the cook, always shopping and prepping. You polished off the last of the hamso what? No guilt, no effort to make it right.
He was raised by a mother who stuffed him without limits. Huge portions, treats on demand. Hes tall, used to be sporty, but the habits stuck. Me? Ive always believed in moderation. Im trying to raise our daughter that wayno excess, just awareness. But with her dad, shes learning the opposite: grab everything, now.
Its not about money. Were comfortableI work at a design agency, hes in logistics, our incomes steady. Its about respect. Thinking of others before yourself. See something? Ask who its for. Did your daughter want it? Did your wife save it? Is that so hard?
Here I am again, staring into the fridge. Empty again. That same quiet, simmering fury rising in me. Ive had enough. I didnt marry to become a housekeeper. I wanted to be a loved wife, a mother, a partnernot a food dispenser for a man who sees this house as just a plate and a sofa.
I told him: You dont live like a family man, you live like a bachelorwith full access to our fridge. And he just shrugs: Youre a poor homemaker if the food doesnt last. A good wife always keeps the pantry stocked. Really? Then why not replace the woman with a vending machine?
More and more, I wonder: maybe what I need isnt a padlock for the fridge, but a key to my own life. A life where Im not just a servant. A life where my wants matter to someone. A life where Im not just a wife, but a person whos heard and respected.
