He devours enough for three, yet he only thinks of himself Im not a wife, just a roaming pantry.
I used to think the padlocks on refrigerators were a jokeanother absurd meme online. Then I saw one in person: a small iron lock with a tiny key, displayed in a hardware store. I stood there, staring, and for the first time seriously wondered, What if I bought it? Not to protect kids food or keep thieves out, but to guard my own husband
My name is Élodie, Im thirty, and I live in Lyon with my husband and our daughter. I work hard, hustling like a whirlwind, as we say back home. Yet, despite all the chaos, the thing that drains me the most isnt my job or my childits the man I share my house with. My husband, Théo, sees nothing beyond his plate. He eats. Constantly. Without discernment, without limits, without remorse.
I come home exhausted, assuming theres still a little something left in the fridge for dinnera piece of meat, a slice of cheese, perhaps a yogurt for my girl. But when I swing the door open, its empty. Not just a bit usedcompletely stripped. Silently, without warning, hes swallowed everything. Sausages, cheese, even the raspberries I bought for my daughtergone, as if sucked into a black hole.
A few days ago I bought strawberries for my little one. You know how pricey they are out of season? Shed seen them at the market and begged for them, and I couldnt say no. At home she savored them delicately, with pure joy I had set some aside for the next day, tucked in the fridge. By morning the container was bare. 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 consideryou just devoured, as if it were your right. And Im left being the cook, constantly buying and preparing. You finished the last salamiso what? No remorse, no effort to make up for it.
He grew up with a mother who overindulged him from the starthuge portions, endless sweets. He was once an athlete, but those habits stuck. Me? Ive always championed moderation. I try to raise my daughter that waywithout excess, with awareness. Yet with her father she learns the opposite: gulp everything, right away.
It isnt about money. We lack nothing: I work at a design agency, he at a transport firm, our incomes are steady. Its about respect. About thinking of others before yourself. Do you see a point? Ask yourself who the food is for. Did your daughter want it? Did I set it aside? Is it really that hard?
Here I am again in front of the fridge. Empty again. That simmering, burning anger rises inside me. Ive had enough. I didnt marry to become a housekeeper. I wanted to be a loved woman, a mother, a partnernot a food supplier for a man who sees this house as only a plate and a couch.
I told him, You dont live as a family; you live like a bachelor with free access to our fridge. He just shrugged, Youre a bad housewife if the food disappears. 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 at all, but a key to my own life. A life where Im not condemned to serve, where my wishes matter to someone, where Im not just a wife but a person who is heard and respected.
