She eats like three people, yet she only thinks of herself Im not a wife; Im merely a roaming pantry.
I used to assume the locks on refrigerators were a jokeone of those absurd memes that float around online. Then I saw one with my own eyes: a metal padlock with a tiny key, displayed in a hardware store. I stood there, studying it, and for the first time I seriously wondered, what if I bought it? Not to safeguard childrens meals or fend off thieves, but to protect my own husband
My name is Élodie, Im thirty, and I live with my husband and our daughter in Lyon. I work hard, hustling like a devil in a holy water font, as we say back home. Yet, despite all the bustle, the thing that drains me most isnt the job or my childits the man I share my home with. My husband, Théo, sees nothing and no one beyond his plate. He eats. Constantly. Without discernment, without limits, without remorse.
I come home exhausted, knowing theres a modest reserve left in the fridge for dinnera piece of meat, a bit of cheese, maybe a yoghurt for our daughter. But when I swing the door open, its empty. Not just partly usedcompletely void. Silently, without warning, hes devoured everything. Overnight. Sausages, cheese, even the raspberries I bought for my girlgone, as if sucked into a black hole.
The other day I bought strawberries for my little one. Do you know how pricey they are out of season? Shed seen them at the market and begged for them. I couldnt say no. At home she ate them delicately, with pure delight I had set some aside for the next day, tucked in the fridge. In the morning the bowl was empty. Hed eaten every last one. Then he had the nerve to laugh: Just get more! We have the money, whats the problem?
The problem, Théo, is that you never think! Not about your daughter, not about me! You didnt ask, you didnt consider, you just inhaled, as if it were your right. And Im reduced to a cook, constantly buying and preparing. You finished the last salamiso what? No remorse, no effort to make up for it.
He was raised by a mother who overindulged him from childhoodmassive portions, sweets everywhere. Hes tall, once athletic, but those habits stuck. Me? Ive always favored moderation. I try to raise my daughter that waywithout excess, with awareness. Yet with her father she learns the opposite: gobble everything, right away.
It isnt about money. We lack nothing: I work at a design agency, he at a transport company, our incomes are steady. Its about respect. About thinking of others before yourself. Do you see it? Ask yourself who its meant for. Did your daughter want it? Did your wife set it aside? Is it really that hard?
Here I am again, in front of the fridge. Still empty. Still that rising anger inside me, muted yet burning. Ive had enough. I didnt marry to become a housekeeper. I wanted to be a loved woman, a mother, a partner. Not a food supplier for a man who sees this house as merely a plate and a couch.
I told him: you dont live as a family; you live like a single person with free access to our fridge. He shrugged: Youre a bad housewife if the food doesnt stay. Good wives always have something to eat on hand. Really? Then why not buy a washing machine to replace the woman?
Lately Im thinking perhaps I dont need a fridge lock, but a key to my own life. A life where Im not condemned to serve, where my desires count for someone, where Im not just a wife but a person who is heard and respected.
