**”I Kicked My Husband Out Over a Roast ChickenAnd I Dont Regret a Thing”**
That day, I was at my wit’s end. All morning, Id been tidying the lounge, hanging laundry, picking up our sons toys, and scrubbing the floors. Finally, I peeked in the oventhe roast chicken with golden potatoes was nearly done, filling the kitchen with a smell that could make your head spin.
“Ten more minutes,” I muttered, setting the timer before darting off to clean the bathroom grout. Everything was running smoothly until the front door slammed.
“The kids must be home,” I thought. But standing there wasnt Oliver or Lilyit was my husband, James, who was supposed to be “at the garage” all morning.
“Oh, that smells divine!” he cheered, rubbing his hands together. “Your roast chicken always wins!”
“Call the kids for dinner,” I said, turning back to the sink.
A minute later, little bare feet thudded down the hall, trainers flew into the entryway, and laughter erupted. Then came the arguing. I stepped out, still wearing rubber gloves.
“Whats going on?” I asked.
“I want a drumstick!” shouted Lily, ten years old.
“Me too!” Oliver, eight, chimed in.
“There are two, arent there?” I said, confused.
“No! Theres only one left!” Lily stamped her foot.
I walked to the table. Half the chicken was gone. Just the breast and a few lonely potatoes remained.
“Wheres your father?”
“He left. Took half the chicken and left,” Oliver grumbled.
I grabbed my phone and called Jamesno answer. Snatching the car keys, I stormed out, fury boiling inside me. Again! Hed taken the best bits. But this time, it wasnt even for himselfit was for his mates. This wasnt just selfishness; it was betrayal.
By the village green, James sat on a bench with his friends, beers in hand, chicken on his lap. They laughed, licked their fingers.
“Not too heavy for you, is it?” I snapped, eyes blazing.
“Go home. Well talk later,” he muttered, embarrassed in front of his mates.
“No, well talk now! You stole what I made for our children! Have you no shame? Its bad enough you always hog the best bitsnow youre feeding your mates with what isnt yours?”
“Piss off before I lose my temper,” he shot back, grabbing my arm.
“What are you doing?” I yanked free. “Youre not just selfish, Jamesyoure a thief. Stealing from your own kids to stuff your drunk mates!”
“Stop overreacting, love,” he growled, humiliated. “It was just this once.”
“Once? What about the chocolates? The caviar my mum brought that you polished off in a day? The barbecue where you left the kids burnt scraps while you stuffed yourself with the good cuts?”
I turned on my heel and marched home.
That night, when he returned, I stood by the window.
“You should see yourself,” James sneered. “Divorce over a chicken. You belong on telly.”
“I want a divorce,” I said, voice icy. “You dont even get it. Its not about the chicken. Its about your rudeness, your greed, and the fact that you only ever think of yourself.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” he mocked.
“Your mums. The one who taught you the best bits are yours. Let her share with you now.”
He left, convinced I was bluffing. But the next day, I filed the papers. He slept at his mums.
Two weeks later, the phone rang.
“You were right,” his ex-mother-in-law sighed. “He eats everything here. I buy chocolates, have onethe rest vanish by nightfall. I thought you were exaggerating. But yesterday, he even took the last drop from the kettle without asking.”
“You want me to take him back?” I said, stunned.
“No just needed to complain, I suppose.”
“Good luck, then. Ive moved on from that glutton. And you know what? I can finally breathe.”
**Lesson learned: Love makes us tolerate much. But when selfishness rules the dinner table, it chokes the soul of the home.**
