He eats for three but thinks only of himself Im not a wife, just a walking pantry.
I used to think padlocks on fridges were a jokeone of those absurd images floating around the internet. Then I saw it with my own eyesa heavy iron lock with a tiny key in a hardware shop. I stood there, staring, and for the first time, I seriously thought: what if I bought it? Not to protect food from the kids or thieves. From my own husband.
My name is Poppy, Im thirty, and I live with my husband and our daughter in Manchester. I work hard, spinning like a top in a teacup, as they say here. But despite all the hustle, what drains me most isnt my job or my daughterits the man I share my home with. My husband, Oliver, sees nothing and no one beyond his plate. He eats. Constantly. Without restraint, without thought, without remorse.
I come home exhausted, knowing theres supposed to be dinner lefta bit of roast, some cheese, maybe a yoghurt for my daughter. But when I open the fridge, its bare. Not just nibbled atcompletely empty. Silently, without warning, hes devoured it all. Overnight. Sausages, cheddar, even the raspberries bought for our girlgone, swallowed into some bottomless pit.
The other day, I bought strawberries for her. You know how much they cost out of season? But she saw them at the market and begged. I couldnt say no. At home, she savoured them slowly, with such delight Id set some aside for the next day, tucked safely in the fridge. By morning, the bowl was empty. Hed eaten every last one. And had the nerve to laugh: «Just buy more! Weve got the money, whats the issue?»
The issue, Oliver, is you never think! Not about our daughter, not about me! You didnt ask, you didnt consideryou just gobbled it down like it was yours by right. And Im just the cook, forever shopping and prepping. You finished the last of the hamso what? No guilt, 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 the habits stuck. Me? Ive always believed in moderation. Im trying to raise our girl the same wayno excess, just mindfulness. But with her father, shes learning the opposite: take everything, take it now.
Its not about money. Were comfortableI work in a design agency, hes in logistics, our incomes are steady. Its about respect. Thinking of others first. You see something? Ask who its for. Did your daughter want it? Did your wife save it? Is that so difficult?
Here I am again, staring into 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 woman, a mother, a partner. Not 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 fridge. And he just shrugs: «Youre a poor homemaker if the food doesnt last. Good wives always have something ready.» Really? Then why not replace the wife with a washing machine?
More and more, I wonder: maybe what I need isnt a padlock for the fridge, but a key to my own life. A life where Im not doomed to serve. A life where my wants matter to someone. A life where Im not just a wife, but a person whos heard and respected.
