“Sixty dishes, Charlotte. One for every year I’ve been alive. And I expect every single one to be prepared by you.”
Evelyn sat comfortably on the expensive sofa in our living room, sipping her tea as if she had just made the most reasonable request in the world.
I stood in the doorway, still wearing my work clothes after another exhausting ten-hour shift.
“Sixty dishes?” I repeated. “Evelyn, there will only be twenty guests. I can prepare a wonderful dinner, but sixty separate dishes are simply too much.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“A good daughter-in-law doesn’t complain about making her husband’s mother happy.”
Before I could respond, my husband, Thomas, lowered his phone and looked at me with irritation.
“What’s your problem, Charlotte? Mom only turns sixty once.”
I stared at him, waiting for even a hint of understanding.
Instead, he pointed toward the kitchen.
“Just do what she asked.”
Something inside me quietly broke.
For five years, I had worked tirelessly to maintain the life we shared. I paid most of the mortgage, covered the utility bills, bought the groceries, and contributed to nearly every major expense.
When Evelyn wanted new furniture, I helped pay for it.
When Thomas needed money for his business plans, I transferred funds without demanding an explanation.
And when his mother complained that our home wasn’t good enough for entertaining her friends, I paid for the kitchen renovation.
Yet somehow, I was still the selfish one.
I took a deep breath.
“No. I’ll prepare a beautiful meal, but I’m not spending the entire night cooking sixty dishes.”
The room fell silent.
Evelyn slowly placed her teacup on the table.
“Thomas, did you hear that? Your wife is refusing to do something for your mother.”
Thomas stood up.
“Charlotte, apologize.”
“For refusing an unreasonable demand?”
“For disrespecting my family!”
I looked at the man I had spent years supporting.
“Your family? Thomas, who do you think pays for this house?”
His face darkened.
“Don’t start counting money.”
“I’m not counting money. I’m reminding you of reality.”
Evelyn let out a disapproving laugh.
“This is exactly why Thomas deserves someone better.”
Thomas pointed toward the hallway.
“If you can’t support this family, leave.”
I looked at him for several seconds.
Then I nodded.
“Fine.”
Neither of them expected that answer.
They had become so accustomed to my compromises that they genuinely believed I would always give in.
I walked into our bedroom, opened the closet, and pulled out a suitcase.
Thomas followed me.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
I continued folding my clothes.
“Charlotte, stop this nonsense. Mom has guests coming tomorrow.”
I zipped the suitcase and looked directly at him.
“Then perhaps you should start preparing those sixty dishes yourself.”
For the first time that evening, Thomas had nothing to say.
But I wasn’t finished.
I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and removed a small black folder.
Inside were bank statements, property documents, copies of financial transfers, and a collection of recordings I had carefully preserved over the previous twelve months.
Thomas had repeatedly accused me of imagining things whenever I questioned his behavior.
So I had stopped arguing.
Instead, I had started documenting everything.
I placed the folder inside my handbag.
Then I called my best friend, Chloe.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
She immediately heard something in my voice.
“What happened?”
“I finally stopped pretending everything was fine.”
“I’m coming to get you.”
After ending the call, I looked around the house one last time.
The dining table had been purchased with my money. The curtains had been chosen and paid for by me. Even the expensive sofa where Evelyn sat criticizing me had come from my bank account.
Yet Thomas had pointed toward the door as though I had never contributed anything.
I picked up my suitcase.
As I passed the living room, Evelyn smiled smugly.
“You’ll come crawling back tomorrow. You always do.”
I stopped.
“No, Evelyn. I won’t.”
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