He eats enough for three, yet thinks only of himself I didnt marry a husbandI adopted a human fridge.
I used to think padlocks on fridges were just an internet joke. One of those ridiculous memes people share for a laugh. Then I saw it with my own eyesa sturdy metal lock with a tiny key, right there in the hardware shop. I stood frozen, staring at it, and for the first time, I seriously considered buying it. Not to keep food safe from the kids or burglars. From my own husband.
My name is Emily, Im thirty, and I live with my husband and our daughter in Manchester. I work hard, rushing around like a headless chicken, as we say here. But for all the chaos, what exhausts me most isnt my job or my little girlits the man I share a home with. My husband, James, sees nothing but his plate. He eats. Constantly. Without restraint, without thought, without remorse.
I come home tired, knowing theres food set aside for dinnera bit of roast, some cheese, maybe yoghurt for my daughter. But when I open the fridge, its bare. Not just nibbled atcompletely empty. Silently, without warning, hes devoured everything. Overnight. Sausages, cheese, even the raspberries I bought for our daughtergone, as if swallowed by a black hole.
The other day, I bought strawberries for my little girl. Do you know how much they cost out of season? But she spotted them at the market and begged. I couldnt say no. At home, she savoured them, so happy I saved a few for the next day, tucked safely in the fridge. By morning, the bowl was empty. Hed eaten every last one. And he had the nerve to laugh: Just buy more! Weve got the money, whats the big deal?
The big deal, James, is that you never think! Not about our daughter, not about me! You didnt ask, you didnt consideryou just inhaled it like it was yours by right. And Im left as nothing more than a cook, endlessly shopping and preparing. You finished the last of the hamso what? No guilt, no effort to make it right.
He was raised by a mother who stuffed him without limits. Huge portions, treats on demand. Hes tall, used to be athletic, but old habits stick. Me? Ive always believed in moderation. Im trying to raise our daughter the same wayno excess, just mindfulness. But with her father, shes learning the opposite: grab everything, right now.
Its not about money. Were comfortableI work at a design agency, hes in logistics, our salaries are steady. Its about respect. Thinking of others before yourself. See something? Ask who its meant for. Did your daughter want it? Did your wife set it aside? Is that so hard?
Now Im at the fridge again. Empty again. That same quiet, burning anger rising inside me. Ive had enough. I didnt marry to become a housekeeper. I wanted to be a loved wife, a mother, a partner. Not a food dispenser for a man who sees this house as just a plate and a sofa.
I told him: You dont live with a familyyou live like a bachelor, but with unlimited access to our fridge. And he just shrugs: Youre a bad homemaker if food doesnt last. A proper wife always has something ready. Oh really? Then why not replace me with a vending 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 just a servant. A life where my needs matter. A life where Im not just a wifebut a person whos heard, and seen, and respected.
