Because of a Chicken, I Kicked My Husband Out. And I Don’t Regret a Thing
That day, Emily was exhausted beyond measure. The entire morning—cleaning, laundry, tidying up toys, mopping the floors. At last, she peeked into the oven: a golden roast chicken with potatoes, filling the kitchen with an aroma that made her head spin.
“Just ten more minutes,” she muttered, setting the timer before dashing to the bathroom—she had just enough time to scrub the tiles. Everything was going smoothly. Until the front door slammed.
“Must be the kids back,” Emily thought, but it wasn’t her son or daughter standing there—it was her husband, James, who’d claimed he’d been “in the shed” all morning.
“Smells amazing!” he grinned, rubbing his hands. “Love your roast chicken!”
“Call the kids, it’s nearly dinner time,” Emily called over her shoulder and returned to the sink.
A minute later, the flat echoed with the sound of bare feet thudding, trainers being tossed aside, and loud laughter. Hearing squabbling, Emily stepped out, still in rubber gloves, before the timer rang.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I want the leg!” shrieked ten-year-old Sophie.
“Me too!” eight-year-old William whined in unison.
“There are two,” Emily sighed.
“No! There’s only one left!” Sophie stamped her foot.
Emily walked to the table. Sure enough—half the chicken was gone. Only dry breast meat and a single sad potato remained.
“Where’s your dad?”
“Gone. Took half the chicken and left,” William muttered.
Emily grabbed her phone, dialled—no answer. Snatching her keys, she stormed out, fury boiling inside her. Again! He’d taken the best for himself. Only this time, not just for himself—for his mates. This wasn’t greed anymore—it was betrayal.
Behind the house, by the playground, James lounged on a bench with his friends. Beer in hand, that very chicken on his lap. Laughing, eating, licking their fingers.
“Feeling greedy, are you?!” Emily marched up, eyes blazing.
“Go home, we’ll talk later,” James muttered, glancing at his mates.
“No, we’ll talk now! You stole food I made for our children! No shame? You always hog the best bits—now you’re feeding your mates what isn’t yours?”
“Walk away before I lose my temper,” he snapped, gripping her arm.
“What are you doing?!” Emily wrenched free. “You’re not just selfish—you’re a thief, James. A thief who swipes food from his own kids to feed a bunch of layabouts.”
“Stop overreacting, Em,” he sneered, humiliated in front of his friends. “It’s just this once.”
“Once? What about the chocolates? The fancy jam from my mum you polished off in a day? The barbecue where you left the kids charred scraps and took the juicy cuts?”
Emily turned and left.
That evening, when James returned, she stood by the window.
“You should’ve seen yourself,” he chuckled. “‘Divorce over a chicken.’ Could’ve sent you on a telly show.”
“I’m filing for divorce,” Emily said coldly. “You still don’t get it. Not about the chicken. About your selfishness, your greed—thinking only of yourself.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” He scoffed. “You’re not even funny.”
“To your mum’s. The same one who taught you the best is always yours. Let her share with you now.”
James left, convinced she was joking. But the next day, she filed the papers. He moved in with his mother.
Two weeks later, her phone rang.
“You were right,” her ex-mother-in-law sighed. “He eats everything here too. I buy myself chocolates, have one—he inhales the rest by evening. Thought you were exaggerating. But he even took the last of the kettle’s boiling water without asking.”
“You want me to take him back?” Emily asked, baffled.
“No… just… needed to complain, I suppose,” the woman huffed.
“Well, good luck. I’m done living with that glutton. And you know what? I can finally breathe.”
