**A Kitchen Scandal: How Stuffed Cabbages Wrecked a Marriage**
Eleanor, weary and drained, trudged home from the shops, her hands gripping two heavy bags. She barely made it into the kitchen before dropping them onto the table and collapsing into a chair, gasping for breath. The damp evening air of the small town of Oakbridge clung to her, deepening her exhaustion.
“Hello, love, what’s for dinner?” came the voice of Edward, appearing in the doorway, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
“Ed, I’ve only just walked in—I haven’t even thought about it,” Eleanor exhaled, tension coiling through her limbs. “I’m shattered.”
“Fancy making stuffed cabbages?” Edward suggested with a light grin, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
Eleanor looked up at him, her eyes hollow with quiet fury. She hesitated a moment, gathering herself, then blurted out words she hadn’t known were coming:
“You know what, Ed? We need a divorce.”
“What? Divorce? Where’s this come from?” Edward froze, his face blank with disbelief.
“Because of your bloody stuffed cabbages!” she nearly shouted, her voice shaking.
“Stuffed cabbages?” He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, unable to grasp the storm inside her.
**10 Months Earlier**
**Reading Time: 5 Minutes**
**Source: Local Gossip**
Freshly married, Eleanor and Edward sat down to discuss their household budget, convinced they’d covered every detail to ensure a harmonious life in Oakbridge.
“We’re adults, Ellie—we’ll split everything down the middle,” Edward declared confidently. “No room for arguments.”
“I don’t know, Ed,” Eleanor faltered. “In my last marriage, my ex covered most expenses since he earned more.”
“And how well did that work out?” Edward snorted. “My ex-wife spent like there was no tomorrow—I couldn’t keep up. No, halves it is.”
Eleanor had hoped their incomes would merge into a shared pot, but Edward’s mind ran on cold arithmetic.
“We split groceries and bills evenly,” he explained. “The rest goes into savings. No need to nickel-and-dime each other.”
The arrangement chafed at Eleanor. It felt unjust, but she agreed, unwilling to start their marriage with a fight. Yet as weeks passed, her patience frayed. Edward adored heavy meals—roasts, takeaways, fried breakfasts—and the sum he’d allotted for food swallowed nearly half her wages. She, meanwhile, ate lightly: yoghurts, salads, fruit. Now her money vanished into thin air.
“Odd setup you’ve got,” remarked her friend Margaret over tea. “You’re nibbling on crackers while he wolfs down steaks, but you pay the same?”
“It bothers me too,” Eleanor admitted, fiddling with the tablecloth. “But I agreed, and now I’m trapped. He’s eating my wages and hoarding his own.”
“Just buy your own food separately,” Margaret suggested. “Fair’s fair.”
Eleanor had considered it but waited for Edward to propose it himself. He never did—he saw no issue.
“What’s the problem?” he’d ask, baffled whenever she brought it up.
“The problem is half my salary goes on food you choose!” she’d snap. “I barely eat any of it, and now I can’t even afford face cream!”
“That’s marriage, Ellie—suck it up,” he’d dismiss her.
“I imagined it differently,” she’d mutter. “My first husband never—”
“Oh, here we go—Saint Ex again!” Edward would sneer. “If he was so perfect, why’d you leave?”
“We split because he cheated,” she’d say softly, the words cutting deep.
“No wonder,” he’d jab. “Your cooking’s nothing to write home about, and the house is a tip.”
The words stung. Eleanor wasn’t a flawless homemaker, but she tried. Before their hasty wedding, they’d never lived together—just dated briefly, then rushed into marriage. Distance had masked their differences. She preferred quiches and roasted veg; he demanded pies, Sunday roasts, kebabs. She began cooking him separate meals, but it drained her time and money while his complaints piled up.
“You’re nearly forty, whining to your mum that I can’t roll a cabbage right?” she fumed once.
“I’m not whining, just chatting,” he’d shrug. “Mum’s a brilliant cook—you could learn a thing or two.”
Eleanor might’ve taken lessons if she were clueless, but she cooked well—just not to Edward’s obsessive standards. Every discussion devolved into rows.
“Just admit you’re tight-fisted!” he’d yell. “I’m not asking for lobster—just a decent banger and mash!”
“Look at the numbers,” she’d plead. “We’re spending almost my entire pay on food—I can’t even save for clothes!”
“Fine, buy your own clothes then,” he’d retort.
Her patience wore thinner each day. She began collecting receipts, tallying a month’s worth before confronting him.
“Thirty percent of this is mine—the rest is yours,” she said. “If we’re sharing, let’s split it fairly.”
“Didn’t take you for a penny-pincher,” he grumbled. “No wonder your ex strayed.”
“And I wonder why yours left,” she shot back. “At least I own my mistakes—you’re always right!”
After that, they barely spoke for days, trading only icy glances.
“This can’t go on,” Eleanor finally said. “We’re meant to be partners.”
“You don’t respect my view,” Edward accused.
“Your view’s not fair,” she countered. “We started this all wrong.”
“Want me to pay for everything? Tough luck,” he snapped. “Get used to it.”
Eleanor lasted a few more months before breaking. She realised she was done financing him. Groceries were split, yet other costs always fell to her. When appliances broke, she called the repairmen.
“It’s my flat, so repairs are on you,” Edward declared.
She paid for fixes, surrendered most of her wages to food, until one day something snapped. This wasn’t the marriage she’d dreamed of—just endless bills, his jibes, his mother’s nagging.
“Sorry, Ed, but I’m done,” she said after another row. “We need time apart.”
“Walking out?” he sneered. “Go on then—don’t think you’ll squeeze a penny from me!”
She packed her things and moved back to her parents’. Edward didn’t call. A month later, she filed for divorce. He didn’t protest, soon parading a new woman around. Eleanor wasn’t rushing into another relationship—she needed time to untangle the mess of her life.
