**”I Threw My Husband Out Over a Chicken, and I Don’t Regret a Thing”**
That day, Margaret was worn to the bone. Shed spent the morning tidying the parlour, hanging the washing, gathering the childrens toys, and scrubbing the windows. At last, she peeked into the oventhe roast chicken with golden potatoes was nearly done, filling the kitchen with a smell so rich it made her head spin.
“Just ten more minutes,” she muttered, setting the timer before hurrying to the loo to scrub the grout. Everything was running smoothly until the front door slammed.
“The children must be home,” she thought. But on the threshold stood neither Thomas nor Emilyonly her husband, William, who was meant to be “at the garage” all morning.
“Oh, that smells heavenly!” he declared, rubbing his hands. “Your roast chicken always wins!”
“Call the children for supper,” Margaret replied, turning back to the sink.
A moment later, bare feet thudded across the floor, trainers were tossed in the hall, and laughter erupted. When a squabble broke out, Margaret stepped out, forgetting the timer.
“Whats all this?” she asked, still wearing rubber gloves.
“I want a drumstick!” cried Emily, aged ten.
“So do I!” chimed Thomas, eight.
“There are two, arent there?” Margaret said, puzzled.
“No! Theres only one left!” Emily stamped her foot.
Margaret stepped closer to the table. Sure enough, half the chicken had vanished. Only the breast and a few lonely potatoes remained.
“Wheres your father?”
“He left. Took half the chicken and went,” Thomas grumbled.
Margaret snatched up her phone and rang Williamno answer. She grabbed her keys and stormed out, fury boiling inside her. Again! Hed helped himself to the best bits. But this time, it wasnt even for himselfit was for his mates. This wasnt just selfishness; it was betrayal.
Near the village green, on a bench, William sat with his friends. Beers in hand, the chicken on his lap. They laughed, ate, licked their fingers.
“Not too heavy for you, is it?” she snapped, eyes blazing.
“Go homewell talk later,” William muttered, embarrassed in front of his pals.
“No, well talk now! You stole what I made for our children! Have you no shame? Isnt it enough you always keep the best for yourself? Now you feed your mates with what isnt yours?”
“Piss off before I lose my temper,” he shot back, grabbing her arm.
“What are you doing?” Margaret gasped. “Youre not just selfish, Williamyoure a thief. A thief who pinches food from his own children to fatten up your drunkards!”
“Stop making a scene, Meg,” he growled, humiliated. “It was just this once.”
“Once? What about the strawberries? The truffles my mother sent that you wolfed down in a day? The barbecue where you left the burnt scraps for the kids while you stuffed yourself with the best cuts?”
Margaret turned on her heel and marched home.
That evening, when he returned, she stood at the window.
“You should see yourself,” William sneered. “‘Divorce over a chicken.’ They ought to put you on telly.”
“I want a divorce,” she said, voice icy. “You dont even understand. 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.
“To your mothers. The one who taught you the best bits belong to you. Let her share with you now.”
William left, certain Margaret was bluffing. But the next day, she filed the papers. He slept at his mothers.
Two weeks later, the phone rang.
“You were right,” sighed his former 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.”
“Do you want me to take him back?” Margaret asked, surprised.
“No just to complain, I suppose.”
“Good luck, then. Ive turned the page with that glutton. And believe me I can finally breathe.”
**The lesson: Love makes us endure much. But when selfishness rules the table, its the soul of the home that starves.**
