When Abby loses her job, she seeks comfort in her husband, Gregor, to keep them afloat until she finds another. But while Abby assumes that Gregor will be supportive, she finds out how he really feels when they celebrate his birthday surrounded by their closest people…
I’m not usually one to share my life online, but after what happened recently, I figured my story should be shared. Let me tell you all about the time my husband tried to humiliate me in front of his friends and how I turned the tables on him in the most satisfying way.
A pensive woman in her forties | Source: Midjourney
I met Gregor when I was in my forties. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and the marriage dream had died a long time ago for me.
“Come on, Abby,” my mother said. “It’s never too late to find someone. Don’t you just want to be married and settle down?”
I shook my head.
In reality, I did want that, but after a toxic relationship in my thirties, I was done thinking about it all. I didn’t want that anymore.
A couple arguing | Source: Midjourney
But then, I met Gregor and we hit it off right away. He was charming, thoughtful, and genuinely seemed to care about me.
“I’ve waited my entire life for you, Abby,” Gregor said when he showed up at my house with a bouquet of roses and an engagement ring tucked away in his palm.
Our first year of marriage felt like one long honeymoon. We traveled together, laughed together non-stop, and truly enjoyed each other’s company.
A man holding a bouquet of roses | Source: Midjourney
It seemed that we just belonged together.
Gregor was successful in his career, working as an executive at a well-known firm, while I was also doing well in my own career. I worked for a marketing company and I really loved my job.
Life was good, and I felt like I had it all.
A smiling couple in their forties | Source: Midjourney
“I told you, Abby,” my mother said one day when I went to visit her with ingredients to make dumplings.
“I know,” I chuckled. “I should have listened. But I’m happy now, and I think I finally got it right.”
“It’s all going to be fine,” my mother said. “As long as you’re happy.”
A plate of dumplings | Source: Midjourney
But then life threw a curveball.
The company I worked for went bankrupt, and just like that, I was out of a job.
It was a blow, not just financially, but also to my confidence. I was good at my job, but there was just something about being unable to do it that made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.
A close up of an upset woman | Source: Midjourney
“It’s going to be okay,” I told myself as I sat at my desk for the last time. We had all been called in to pack up our belongings and just say goodbye.
But deep down, I knew that although I prided myself on my independence and hated the idea of being reliant on anyone, Gregor was still there.
When I broke the news to Gregor, he seemed supportive at first. But it didn’t take long for his true feelings to surface.
An upset woman sitting at a desk | Source: Midjourney
“What? Now, I’m going to be the breadwinner at home? The only breadwinner?” he asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“It’s just for now,” I said. “I’m going to start the job hunt as soon as possible. But until I get back onto my feet, it’s going to be you running the home. Okay?”
“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, right?” he said, rolling his eyes.
A grumpy man | Source: Midjourney
“It’s not for long,” I promised. “Just give me a few weeks and I’ll have another job ready to go.”
I had to admit, I was taken aback by his reaction, but understood his concern. I quickly started job hunting, determined to find something else.
I sat down at my laptop and stared at the screen until the words blurred.
A woman using her laptop | Source: Midjourney
“Come on, Abby,” I told myself. “You need to find something. You just need the world to give you a break, that’s all.”
While I was searching, I took a temporary job as a cleaner in a nearby restaurant. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest work, and it helped keep us afloat.
“At least your boss is happy to give us food,” Gregor said one evening as I unwrapped leftover steak and veggies from the restaurant.
A woman holding a mop | Source: Midjourney
“Yes, the manager would rather have food sent home for our families to enjoy rather than just throw it out,” I said, cutting my steak.
“It’s good food,” Gregor said. “But at the same time, it’s not a good job for you. Our family and friends are used to seeing you with your nails and hair done, wearing high heels and fancy outfits. Not black slacks and an apron, Abby.”
A plate of steak and veggies | Source: Midjourney
“I know that,” I said. “But it’s not like I’ve settled for the job. I’m still actively looking for another job. This is to keep us going until then.”
Gregor grunted and continued to eat.
For a moment, I had no idea who my husband was. But this man wasn’t the one that I had married.
A man eating | Source: Midjourney
Fast forward a few months to Gregor’s 45th birthday.
My husband decided to throw himself a big bash at an expensive restaurant and invited all his friends, family, and colleagues.
“So, he can complain about looking after his wife, but he’s fine with spoiling everyone else for his birthday?” my mother tutted on the phone.
An older woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Mom,” I said. “It’s just how he is. But I’m looking forward to this. It’s my first weekend off in a while and I just want to unwind and have fun.”
“I know, darling,” she said.
Admittedly, I was excited for the night, thinking it would be a chance for us to relax and just spend time together outside of our home.
A smiling woman on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Happy birthday, my love,” I said to Gregor when we got to the restaurant.
I had called ahead and asked for them to set up black and silver balloons around the table Gregor had reserved.
The night started off well, with good food, laughter, and drinks flowing freely. As the evening went on, tipsy people began to make toasts.
A table with food and drinks at a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
First, was Gregor’s sister, Natalia.
“You’re lucky to have Abby in your life, brother,” she said, holding two glasses of champagne. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
I felt touched by her words and smiled, feeling appreciated.
Gregor’s friend, Tim, went next, talking about the joys of having Gregor in the office next door.
A woman holding two glasses of champagne | Source: Midjourney
Finally, it was Gregor’s turn to speak.
He stood up, his glass of champagne in hand, and began laughing before he even said a word.
“Oh, I know I’m lucky, Nat,” he said. “But let’s be real, Abby is lucky too! She’s basically my dependent now. I’d have kicked her out a long time ago if she wasn’t so obedient. It’s just a pity I invested all that money in her over the years.”
A man standing and giving a speech | Source: Midjourney
Gregor hiccupped and reached for a piece of shrimp from his plate.
The table fell silent, and my insides twisted more than they ever had. Embarrassed wasn’t enough to describe how I felt.
He was laughing, expecting everyone else to join in. Some people chuckled awkwardly, not knowing what to do, but most people looked around uncomfortably.
A plate of fried shrimp | Source: Midjourney
Gregor took another piece of shrimp before he dissolved into laughter for a while.
“Come on guys, that was a killer joke!” he bellowed in between laughing.
But then, as I sat there, something clicked inside me.
I decided I wasn’t going to let him get away with this behavior. This was toxic behavior.
A man laughing | Source: Midjourney
I wasn’t going to allow that back into my life.
Calmly, I stood up and took a deep breath.
“Well, Gregor,” I said. “It seems like you’re forgetting a few things. But let me remind you and everyone else about some investments I’ve made.”
All eyes were on me as I spoke, and Gregor’s smug smile slowly faded away.
An expressionless woman | Source: Midjourney
“You see,” I started. “While you’ve been investing in me, you’ve also been busy investing. The money you used to fund this luxurious celebration didn’t come from your account.”
Gasps erupted around the room.
“I saw the notification,” I said. “You took it from my savings fund. You don’t believe me? I can pull up the statement on my phone right now…”
A woman holding her phone | Source: Midjourney
“No…” Gregor said.
“I was willing to overlook this because we were a team, but it seems that we’re not. I know that you only took out the money to reserve this place, and that the rest of the bill needs to be paid when we leave here. Correct?”
Gregor nodded slowly.
“Correct,” he muttered.
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
“And I have the money with me, right in my purse,” I said. “I wanted you to have a good birthday, and I didn’t want you to pay for your own birthday dinner.”
I looked around the table, seeing the realization dawn on everyone’s faces.
“But do you know what? I think I’ll just keep it, along with my dignity.”
With that, I calmly walked off the stage and out of the restaurant.
A woman walking away on the pavement | Source: Midjourney
I don’t know how Gregor paid for the dinner, but I didn’t care. Instead, I went home and packed as much of my clothes as my car would allow, and I drove to my mother’s place.
I wasn’t going to stay in a toxic relationship again.
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
My Downstairs Neighbor Asked Me to Be Quieter at Night, but I Have Not Been Home for the past Week
When Piper returns from a trip with her friends, she cannot wait to get home to her husband. But as she unpacks her car, a neighbor approaches her, complaining about the noise from her apartment. If Piper wasn’t home, who was Matthew entertaining in her absence?
I had just returned from a blissful week-long camping trip with my friends. It was all about us taking time away from our lives and enjoying being away from the city.
My husband, Matthew, had stayed behind, claiming that he needed to stay at home.
A woman sitting outside and looking at the view | Source: Midjourney
“I have to be home, Piper,” he said when I was packing my bags. “It’s just work responsibilities. There are meetings and presentations coming up.”
“Are you sure?” I asked him. “Why don’t you come along, and then we can find you a place to work in between it all?”
Matthew smiled at me and sat down on the bed.
A woman sitting on a suitcase | Source: Midjourney
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said. “You go and join the others and have fun. You need some time away from this place.”
He continued to persuade me to go on the trip, and eventually, I gave in.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Stepdad Said He Doesn’t Eat the Same Meal Twice and That My Mom Should Cook Fresh Food Every Day — So I Gave Him a Wake-up Call
My stepdad demanded a fresh-cooked meal every day, like it was the 1950s. When my mom tried reheating leftover food, he tossed it and said real wives cook daily. I watched her shrink under the man who’d forgotten what gratitude looked like. So I served him a taste of humility.
After Dad died six years ago, my mom, Colleen, moved through life like a ghost. They’d been college sweethearts, married for 32 golden years with the kind of love that doesn’t need spotlights. He’d bring her coffee every morning and kiss her temple before leaving for work. She’d fold his socks the way he liked—paired and rolled, never bunched.
A sad older woman | Source: Pexels
I called her every day from two states away, but phone calls couldn’t fill the empty chair at her dinner table.
“I’m fine, sweetie,” she’d say, but I could hear the hollowness in her voice.
Then came Raymond. He worked with Mom at the community college. He was an accounting professor with slicked-back hair and cologne you could smell before he entered a room. He started bringing her lunch and offered to fix things around the house.
I was relieved someone was there, checking in on her when I couldn’t.
A relieved and delighted older woman leaning on a man’s shoulder | Source: Pexels
“He makes me laugh again, Matty,” Mom told me over the phone. “Do you know how long it’s been since I really laughed?”
Raymond always lingered and he somehow landed a place in her heart. The proposal came fast, and the wedding even faster. A beach ceremony with just 20 people… sand between toes. The whole thing looked sweet in pictures.
Mom wore a simple white dress, and Raymond looked genuinely happy. I pushed down my reservations and hugged them both.
A newlywed senior couple looking happy | Source: Pexels
“Take care of her,” I whispered to him.
“Always,” he promised, patting my back a little too hard. “Your mom deserves the world.”
I wanted to believe him. Maybe that’s why I ignored the way he interrupted her during the reception, or how he complained about the cake being too sweet.
“Marriage is about compromise,” Mom said when I mentioned it later. “We’re both adjusting.”
I was genuinely glad she’d found someone again. Someone steady. Someone who loved her. But God, I was wrong… so, painfully wrong.
A happily married couple posing for a photo | Source: Pexels
Six months later, I showed up at their doorstep with a basket of fresh muffins and enough clothes for a week-long visit. Mom hugged me tight, her frame smaller than I remembered.
“You’ve lost weight,” I said, studying her face.
She waved me off. “Just trying to keep up with Raymond. He’s very particular about what he eats.”
We settled in the kitchen with tea. Mom was in the middle of telling me about her garden when she suddenly pressed her fingers to her temple.
“Mom, are you alright?”
“Just a little headache, dear,” she said, wincing. “I’ve had this cold for a week now. Nothing serious.”
Her complexion was pale and her eyes were underlined with shadows. This wasn’t just a cold.
A shaken young woman | Source: Pexels
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Raymond says it’s just allergies. I’ll be fine after I rest.” She stood up and opened the refrigerator. “I made lasagna yesterday. It’s really good… your grandma’s recipe.”
She was pulling the container out when Raymond walked in. He was wearing a golf shirt, his face flushed from being outside.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, not bothering to greet me.
“I thought we’d have the leftover lasagna. I’m not feeling like cooking something new tonight.”
Raymond’s expression darkened. “Leftovers? Again?”
Lasagna in a glass tray | Source: Pexels
“It’s still good, Ray. I just don’t have the energy—”
The crash made me jump. Raymond swiped the container from her hands, sending it tumbling to the floor. Pasta, sauce, and cheese splattered across the tile.
“I’ve told you a hundred times. I DON’T eat the same meal TWICE. Am I a man or a pig? A real wife cooks fresh food for her husband every day. That’s your job now. Is that so hard to understand?”
Mom was already on her knees, picking up the mess. “I’m sorry. You’re… you’re right. I’ll make something else.”
I froze. In the six years since Dad died, I’d worried about Mom being lonely and sad… but never THIS. Never afraid. Never controlled.
An annoyed man staring at someone | Source: Pexels
I dropped down beside her. “Mom, stop. Let me help.”
Up close, I could see her hands shaking. “Does this happen often?”
Her silence told me everything.
“You can help by making something fresh, Matilda,” Raymond said, walking away. “I’ll be in my study.”
***
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling fan in the guest room. The image of Mom on her knees kept playing on repeat. I thought about calling the police, but what would I say? My stepdad broke a dish? Made my mother cry?
No. This required something else entirely.
A disheartened woman sitting on her bed | Source: Pexels
I found Mom in the kitchen at dawn, already mixing pancake batter.
“Let me cook today,” I said, taking the bowl from her hands.
She looked relieved. “Are you sure, honey? Raymond likes his breakfast at seven sharp.”
“I’m positive. You should rest… your cold sounds worse.”
She hesitated before nodding. “He likes his eggs over medium. Not too runny, not too firm.”
“Got it. Why don’t you go back to bed for a bit?”
After she left, I pulled out every cookbook in her cabinet and got to work.
A woman cooking a meal in the kitchen | Source: Pexels
Raymond came down at exactly seven, newspaper tucked under his arm. He raised an eyebrow at the spread I laid out—golden pancakes, perfectly cooked eggs, crisp bacon, fresh fruit, and steaming coffee.
“Well, look at this!” he said, taking his seat. “Colleen could learn a thing or two from you.”
I forced a smile. “Mom’s not feeling well. I thought I’d help out while I’m here.”
He took a bite of the pancake and nodded approvingly. “Now this is how a man should be treated in his own home.”
I bit my tongue so hard I winced through the copper tang.
A man eating pancakes | Source: Pexels
“I’ll handle the meals while I’m visiting. Mom needs to rest.”
“Best idea I’ve heard all week.” He pointed his fork at me. “Your generation could use more women like you… ones who understand the kind of fresh food men really need.”
I watched him eat, planning my next move.
For the next four days, I became a one-woman restaurant. Eggs Benedict for breakfast, hand-rolled sushi for lunch, and Beef Wellington for dinner. I made every meal from scratch, plated it like artwork, and served it with a smile that made my face ache.
“This is incredible,” Raymond kept saying. “I should have you visit more often.”
A woman pouring sauce on a plate of meat dish | Source: Pexels
By day three, he took photos of every dish and sent them to his friends on Instagram. “This is what real home cooking looks like, man! 🥩🍗🥘😋“ he bragged.
Mom watched it all with knowing eyes, saying little but squeezing my hand when Raymond wasn’t looking.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered on day four.
“Trust me, Mom. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
That night, I prepared his favorite meal—herb-crusted lamb with rosemary potatoes and glazed carrots. The table was set with candles and Mom’s best china.
“To good food and family,” Raymond toasted, raising his wine glass.
I clinked mine against his. “And to appreciating what we have!”
A plate of roasted lamb with mashed potatoes and rosemary | Source: Pexels
He was halfway through his meal when I said, “You know, it’s interesting how our taste buds work.”
“How’s that?” he asked, mouth full of lamb.
“Well, for instance, you’ve been eating variations of the same three meals all week, but because I presented them differently, you never noticed.”
His fork froze midway to his mouth. “What are you talking about?”
“That lamb? It’s the same one I made two days ago. I just cut it differently and added a new sauce.”
His face flushed. “No, it isn’t.”
A woman clapping her flour-dusted hands | Source: Pexels
“The potatoes are leftovers from yesterday. The carrots? Those are from the beef dish on Monday. I’ve been recycling ingredients all week, and you’ve been praising every bite.”
Raymond pushed his plate away. “That’s disgusting.”
“Is it? Because five minutes ago, it was ‘the best meal you’ve ever had.’ You even posted it online.”
Mom had appeared in the doorway, watching silently.
“You served me… leftovers??”
“Leftovers aren’t about laziness, Raymond. They’re about planning, efficiency, and not wasting food… something my father understood perfectly.”
Food set on a table | Source: Unsplash
Raymond’s face turned an alarming shade of purple. “How dare you trick me like this!”
“How dare you treat my mother like your personal chef when she’s sick? How dare you break dishes and make demands like a spoiled child?”
“This is between me and your mother.”
“It became my business when I saw her picking up broken dishes off the floor.” I turned to Mom. “Get your coat.”
“What?” Raymond and Mom said in unison.
“I made reservations at Antonio’s. The real one, not the leftover version.” I smiled at Mom. “You and I are going out. Raymond can heat up something for himself.”
Mom looked between us, her eyes wide.
A stunned senior woman | Source: Pexels
“Go,” I said gently. “Wait in the car.”
After she left, I leaned across the table. “My mother spent 32 years with a man who appreciated everything she did. She deserves nothing less now.”
Raymond’s nostrils flared. “You have no idea what marriage is about.”
“I know it’s not about fear.” I straightened up. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge. Try not to throw any of it on the floor while we’re gone.”
A woman with her arms crossed | Source: Pexels
At the restaurant, Mom was quiet until our pasta arrived.
“I should have said something sooner,” she finally whispered. “After your father… I was so lonely. Raymond seemed kind at first.”
“This isn’t your fault,” I reached across the table for her hand. “But it needs to end.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m 62 years old. I never thought I’d be starting over again.”
“You don’t heal in the same place that’s breaking you, Mom.”
“I want to be brave again, dear. I used to be brave.”
“You still are. You just forgot for a little while.”
A sad woman staring at her plate of pasta | Source: Pexels
I extended my visit by another week, helping Mom pack Raymond’s things while he was at work. We changed the locks and put his belongings in the garage.
When he came home and found his key didn’t work, he pounded on the door until the neighbors peeked out their windows.
“This is my house!” he shouted through the door.
Mom stood in the hallway, shaking but resolute. “I’m sorry, but this is my late husband’s house. You can say what you need to say tomorrow when you pick up your things. For now, please leave.”
A man trying to unlock the door | Source: Pexels
Later that night, after the shouting stopped and the house was quiet again, we sat on the porch swing like we used to when I was little.
“What if I made a mistake?” Mom asked, her voice small.
“What if you didn’t?”
She thought about that for a moment. “Your father would be proud of you.”
“He’d be proud of both of us.”
***
Three months later, Mom called me on a Sunday evening.
“Raymond left me a voicemail. He wants to come over and cook me dinner. Says he’s changed. He’s begging me to call off the divorce.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I already had plans. I’m having lasagna tonight. The same one I made yesterday. And it’s delicious!”
A smiling senior woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels
“And Mom? You know what goes great with lasagna? Freedom! And a kitchen where no one throws plates!”
Her laughter echoed like wind chimes.
Here’s the thing about entitlement: it eats itself. People like Raymond think they deserve service, but they forget love is never owed. It’s earned. And when you treat kindness like a chore, eventually, someone serves you a dish called consequences… with a garnish of get the hell out.
A woman holding a note with an insightful text | Source: Pexels
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