**”I Kicked My Husband Out Over a Chicken, and I Dont Regret a Thing”**
That day, Emily was at her wits end. All morning, shed been tidying the lounge, hanging laundry, picking up the kids toys, and scrubbing the windows. Finally, she peeked in the oventhe roast chicken with golden potatoes was nearly ready, filling the kitchen with a dizzyingly delicious aroma.
“Just ten more minutes,” she muttered, setting the timer before dashing to the bathroom to clean the grout. Everything was going smoothly until the front door slammed.
“The kids must be home,” she thought. But on the doorstep stood neither Oliver nor Charlottejust her husband, James, who was supposed to be “at the garage” all morning.
“Oh, that smells amazing!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Your roast chicken always wins!”
“Call the kids for dinner,” Emily replied, turning back to the sink.
A minute later, bare feet pounded the hardwood, trainers were tossed in the hallway, and laughter erupted. Hearing an argument, Emily stepped out, forgetting the timer.
“Whats going on?” she asked, still wearing rubber gloves.
“I want a drumstick!” shouted Charlotte, age ten.
“Me too!” Oliver, eight, chimed in.
“There are two, arent there?” Emily said, confused.
“No! Theres only one left!” Charlotte stamped her foot.
Emily walked to the table. Sure enough, half the chicken was gone. Only the breast and a few lonely potatoes remained.
“And Dad?”
“He left. Took half the chicken and just left,” Oliver grumbled.
Emily snatched her phone and called Jamesno answer. She grabbed her keys and stormed out, her anger boiling over. Again! Hed taken the best for himself. But this time, it wasnt even for himit 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, ate, licked their fingers.
“Not too heavy for you, is it?” she spat, her eyes blazing.
“Go home. Well talk later,” James 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 keep the best bits for yourselfnow youre feeding your friends with what isnt yours?”
“Piss off before I lose my temper,” he snapped, grabbing her arm.
“What are you doing?” Emily cried. “Youre not just selfish, Jamesyoure a thief. A thief who steals food from his own kids to stuff your drunk mates!”
“Stop being dramatic, Em,” he growled, humiliated. “It was just this once.”
“Once? What about the chocolates? The fancy cheese my mum brought that you wolfed down in a day? The barbecue where you let the kids have the burnt bits while you gorged on the best cuts?”
Emily turned on her heel and went home.
That evening, when he returned, she was at the window.
“You should see yourself,” James sneered. “‘Divorce over a chicken.’ You belong on telly.”
“I want a divorce,” she said, her voice icy. “You dont even get it. Its not about the chicken. Its about your rudeness, your greed, and the fact you only ever think of yourself.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” he scoffed.
“Your mums. The one who taught you the best bits are always yours. Let her share with you now.”
James left, convinced Emily was bluffing. But the next day, she filed the papers. He slept at his mothers.
Two weeks later, her phone rang.
“You were right,” sighed his ex-mother-in-law. “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?” Emily asked, surprised.
“No just needed to complain, I suppose.”
“Good luck, then. Ive moved on from that glutton. And you know what? I can finally breathe.”
**Todays Lesson: Love makes us tolerate many things. But when selfishness rules the dinner table, it chokes the soul of the home.**
