Are you a man in the kitchen?! The motherinlaw gasped in horror as she saw her son preparing breakfast himself.
Valentine Lefèvre had finally come to visit after eight years. Since her son Théo and I had gotten married, she had never set foot in our home. She lived in a tiny village near Bordeaux and rarely traveled to the cityage, health, and farm duties kept her there. Yet this time she insisted: Im coming to see how you live. After all, you have a family, a mortgaged flat I need to make sure everythings alright.
Honestly, I was relieved. All those years there had been no visits, no calls, no news. I hoped we could finally break the ice. We greeted her properly: a ready bedroom, traditional dishes, a soft robe and comfortable slippers. Théo and I did our best. Between work and house chores it wasnt easy, but she deserved our attention.
The first days passed quietly, without incident. Then Saturday morning arrived. I allowed myself to sleep in, exhausted after a grueling week. Théo, as usual, got up early, always thoughtful, looking for small ways to please me. That day he decided to surprise us with a breakfast for his mother and me.
Halfasleep, I heard the kitchen soundsthe sizzle of the pan, the coffee machine humming, the scent of buttered toast. I smiled, feeling lighthearted. My man, my caring Théo. That peace lasted only a moment, until Valentine stepped into the kitchen.
Her voice cut through the doorway:
What are you doing, son? At the stove? Wearing an apron?
Mom, I was just making breakfast. You must be tired from the trip. And Camille is still sleepinglet her rest. Besides, you know I enjoy cooking, Théo replied.
Take that apron off right now! A man in the kitchen, how disgraceful! Thats not why I raised you! Your father never washed a single dish in his life, and now youre making omelets like a maid! And Camille, why is she still in bed? Thats her place! Youre completely under her spell, its pathetic to watch!
I stayed under the covers, fists clenched, torn between wanting to laugh and to intervene. Her words disgusted me. I felt shame for Théo, hurt for myself, and feared this visit would leave lasting scars.
When she began choking on her own indignation, I got up. Théo still held his spatula, the omelet calmly turning over the flame. Valentine trembled with anger, muttering about decadence, irresponsibility, and a man must be a man.
I quickly brewed a calming herbal teawithout it we might have suffered a heart attack on the spot. Sitting beside her, I took her hand and tried to explain gently:
In our home things work differently. Were partners. I cook, I clean, I work. Théo helps too. He cooks because he enjoys it, because he cares for us. Is that really such a problem?
She didnt listen. Her face was set, her gaze full of judgment. She said nothing, but her expression spoke: Youve turned my son into a weakling. When she left a few days later, without even an embrace, I realized she would never accept our way of life.
Later, Théo told me she had called his father to complain: Our boy has become his wifes servant, the poor thing cant even sleepup at dawn before the pots. I thought how sad it is to raise a man to believe that caring for others is a weakness, that love is a shame.
Im not angry, just sorrysorry for her, who spent a life treating the kitchen as a prison; for him, who had to fight for the right to be a good husband; and for me, because I had hoped wed grow close.
One thing I know for certain: my man isnt weak. Hes simply someone who loves. If that doesnt please everyone well, thats their problem.
Are You a Submissive Man?! — Mother-in-Law Stunned as Son Prepares Breakfast on His Own
