**Diary Entry 12th March**
He eats enough for three but only thinks of himself I didnt marry a man; I replaced my fridge with a live-in stomach.
I used to think padlocked fridges were a jokejust one of those absurd internet memes. Then I saw it myself in a hardware shop: a heavy-duty lock with a tiny key. I stood there, staring, and for the first time, it crossed my mindwhat if I bought one? Not to keep food safe from the kids or burglars. From my own husband.
My names Charlotte, Im thirty, and I live in Manchester with my husband, James, and our daughter. I work hard, running around like a headless chicken, as we say here. But despite the chaos, what drains me most isnt my job or my little girlits the man I share a home with. James sees nothing but his plate. He eats. Constantly. Without a second thought, without restraint, without guilt.
I come home exhausted, counting on leftovers in the fridgesome chicken, a bit of cheese, maybe yoghurt for my daughter. But when I open the door, its bare. Not just picked atcompletely empty. Silently, without warning, hes devoured it all. Overnight. Sausages, cheese, even the raspberries I bought for our girlgone, as if swallowed by a black hole.
The other day, I splurged on strawberries for her. You know how much they cost out of season? But she spotted them at the market and begged. I couldnt say no. At home, she savoured each one with such delight Id saved a few for the next day, tucked safely in the fridge. By morning, the bowl was empty. Hed eaten every last one. And he had the nerve to laugh: “Just buy more! Weve got the money, whats the big deal?”
The big deal, James, is you never stop to think! Not about our daughter, not about me! You didnt ask, you didnt hesitatejust wolfed it down like it was yours by right. And Im left playing the role of a short-order cook, forever shopping and prepping. You polished off the last of the hamso what? No remorse, no effort to make it right.
He was raised by a mother who fed him without limitshuge portions, treats on demand. Hes tall, used to be athletic, but those habits stuck. Me? Ive always believed in moderation. Im trying to raise our girl the same waymindful, not greedy. Yet with him, shes learning the opposite: take everything, now.
Its not about money. Were comfortableIm a graphic designer, he works in logistics, our salaries are steady. Its about respect. Considering others before yourself. See something? Ask who its for. Did your daughter want it? Did your wife set it aside? Is that so difficult?
Here I am again, facing the fridge. Empty again. That same slow-burning anger rising in my chest. Ive had enough. I didnt marry to become a housekeeper. I wanted to be a loved wife, a mother, a partnernot a vending machine for a man who sees this home as just a plate and a sofa.
I told him: You dont live like a family man; you live like a bachelor with unlimited access to our groceries. He just shrugged: “Youre a poor homemaker if the cupboards arent stocked. A good wife always has food ready.” Really? Why not replace me with a bread maker while youre at it?
More and more, I wondermaybe what I need isnt a lock for the fridge, but a key to my own life. One where Im not just someones servant. One where my needs matter. One where Im not just a wife, but a person whos heard.
**Lesson today: A marriage should feed the heart, not just the stomach.**
