**”I Kicked My Husband Out Over a Roast ChickenAnd I Dont Regret a Thing”**
That day, Emily was at her wits end. Shed spent the morning tidying the sitting room, hanging laundry, picking up the childrens toys, and scrubbing the tiles. Finally, she peeked into the oven: the roast chicken with golden potatoes was perfect, filling the kitchen with a smell that made her head spin.
“Ten more minutes,” she muttered, setting the timer before dashing to the loojust long enough to clean the grout. Everything was running smoothly until the front door slammed.
“The kids must be home,” she thought. But on the doorstep stood neither Oliver nor Charlottejust her husband, James, who was supposed to be “at the garage” all morning.
“Bloody hell, that smells divine!” he beamed, rubbing his hands. “Your roast never disappoints!”
“Call the kids for dinner,” Emily said flatly, turning back to the sink.
A minute later, tiny bare feet thudded across the floor, trainers were flung in the hall, and laughter erupted. Thenshouting. Emily rushed out, rubber gloves still on.
“Whats going on?” she asked.
“I want a drumstick!” wailed Charlotte, ten.
“Me too!” Oliver, eight, chimed in.
“There are two, arent there?” Emily frowned.
“No! Theres only one left!” Charlotte stamped her foot.
Emily stepped closer. Half the chicken was gone. Just the breast and a few lonely potatoes remained.
“Wheres your dad?”
“He left. Took half the chicken and went,” Oliver grumbled.
Emily grabbed her phone. No answer. Keys in hand, she stormed out, fury boiling over. Again! Hed helped himself to the best bits. But this time, it wasnt even for himit was for his mates. Not just selfishness. Betrayal.
By the village green, James lounged on a bench with his friends, beers in hand, chicken on his lap. They laughed, licking their fingers.
“Hungry?” she snapped, eyes blazing.
“Go home. Well talk later,” James muttered, embarrassed in front of his pals.
“No, well talk now! You stole what I made for our children! Have you no shame? Its bad enough you always hog the best bitsnow youre feeding your mates with what isnt yours?”
“Piss off before I lose my temper,” he hissed, grabbing her arm.
“Whatre you doing?” Emily recoiled. “Youre not just selfish, Jamesyoure a thief. Stealing from your own kids to stuff your mates faces!”
“Stop exaggerating, Em,” he sneered, cheeks reddening. “It was just once.”
“Once? What about the chocolates? The fancy pâté from my mum you wolfed down in a day? The barbecue where the kids got burnt scraps while you gorged on the good cuts?”
Emily turned on her heel and left.
That evening, when he returned, she waited by the window.
“Look at you,” James jeered. “‘Divorced over a chicken.’ You belong on telly.”
“I want a divorce,” she said coldly. “You dont get it. Its not the chicken. Its your greed, your rudeness, the fact you only ever think of yourself.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” he scoffed.
“Your mums. The one who taught you the best bits are yours. Let her share with you now.”
James left, convinced she 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 her ex-mother-in-law. “He eats everything here. I buy chocolates, have onethe rest vanish by nightfall. I thought you were overreacting. But yesterday, he even took the last drop from the kettle without asking.”
“Want me to take him back?” Emily asked, stunned.
“No just wanted you to know. Ive had my fill with this glutton.”
“Good luck, then. As for me? Im finally breathing easy.”
**Lesson learned: Love makes us tolerate much. But when selfishness rules the dinner table, its the soul of the home that starves.**
