**Kitchen Rebellion: How a Day Without Order Changed Our Family**
*— Another day wasted watching telly!* barked Edmund, storming into the flat and tossing his keys onto the sideboard.
Eleanor had just settled onto the sofa and switched on her favourite romance drama, desperate for a moment’s peace. She’d been at it all day—cleaning, laundry, ironing, playing with their little girl—exhausted by evening, feet aching, barely able to catch her breath. The only affection she saw came from the TV screen. Her husband hadn’t spoken a kind word to her since their honeymoon. Edmund never missed a chance to criticise, as if every hardship was her fault.
*— I’m out working all day to keep a roof over our heads, and you just laze about, glued to that blasted box!* he ranted. *Mum warned me you were lazy, but I didn’t listen. Thought marriage would make life easier.*
His words stung, but Eleanor only scoffed. She’d tried explaining—countless times—what she did while he was gone. But Edmund never noticed the gleaming floors, the neatly folded laundry, the fridge stocked for days ahead. He pressed on:
*— What, nothing to say? Can’t even be bothered to heat up dinner? Just telly, telly, telly! You’re as bad as the lot who watch this rubbish. My mum would’ve had dinner ready hours ago, but no, you couldn’t stand living with her!*
*— Oh, go live with your mum, then!* Eleanor snapped, turning up the volume. *If you can’t speak to your wife properly, make your own dinner!*
She hadn’t meant to argue—their daughter was asleep next door. But Edmund shot her a glare and stalked off.
*— You’ll pay for this!* he threw over his shoulder.
Halfway through her show, Eleanor barely followed a word. Her heart pounded with hurt. How had it come to this? Edmund had been so charming when they’d met—swept her off her feet, begged her to marry him. Now? Just a nagging, selfish shadow of that man. Words like *daft* and *slacker* cut like knives.
The truth was, Eleanor ran their home flawlessly. Their daughter, Lily, often fell ill, so she’d decided against nursery until she turned three. After maternity leave, she’d planned to go back to work—prove she wasn’t *living off him.* But how could she make Edmund see her worth? Respect her as his wife, as Lily’s mother?
She sighed. Marriage wasn’t what she’d dreamed of—no warmth, no support, just endless jabs. Yesterday, Edmund had walked right past her and Lily on their way back from the doctor’s—no smile, no greeting, like they were strangers. Divorce wasn’t an option yet—where would she go with a child? Her parents lived miles away. But how much longer could she endure this?
She needed to talk to Harriet. Her best friend had divorced two years ago and now lived freely, answering to no one. *Imagine that,* Eleanor thought, wiping a tear. Stepping to the window—so Edmund wouldn’t hear—she dialled.
*— Hattie, hi! How are you?* Her voice trembled. *I need your help.*
*— Let me guess—Edmund again?* Harriet said.
*— You get it. At home, I’m invisible,* Eleanor sighed. *I clean, cook, look after Lily—nothing’s ever good enough. Floors shine, food’s ready, Lily’s bathed and dressed. What more does he want? Claims I do nothing. Is he blind?*
*— He just wants you to live for him,* Harriet replied. *You’re not a machine—you’re knackered! He should help. Take Lily to the park, wash a dish.*
*— Oh, please!* Eleanor laughed bitterly. *Housework’s beneath him, apparently. I can manage, but a little recognition would be nice. He wolfs down dinner without a word. Meanwhile, his mum’s cooking—honestly, it’s vile—gets all the praise.*
*— Sit him down. Walk him through your day.*
*— Tried. A thousand times. He enjoys winding me up. What do I do, Hattie?*
*— Honestly? Teach him a lesson. Make him see how hard it is without you,* Harriet said. *You’re his wife, not his maid! Listen—I’ve got an idea.*
Eleanor listened—then burst out laughing:
*— You think that’ll work?*
*— Like a charm.*
The next morning, when Edmund left for work, Eleanor got to work. She scattered clothes, stuffed clean shirts back into the washer, flung Lily’s toys everywhere, and left dirty dishes piled high. Lily watched, puzzled.
*— Come on, sweetheart—we’re off to Aunt Hattie’s! We’ll watch cartoons!*
*— Cartoons?* Lily beamed.
*— Yes, love!*
They spent the day with Harriet—cinema, ice cream, laughter. For the first time in ages, Eleanor felt light. They returned late. Edmund stood in the doorway, livid.
*— Where have you been?! The place is a tip! I nearly called the police!*
*— What’s the issue?* Eleanor blinked innocently. *Hattie took us out—Lily needs stimulation. Problem?*
*— Look at this mess!*
*— Oh, that?* She shrugged. *I didn’t lift a finger today. Grab a cloth and clean up. Oh—no dinner either. Fend for yourself. Actually, I’m going out every day now—museums, galleries. Lily should experience culture. You’re always saying I only watch telly.*
Edmund gaped:
*— What?! I’m shattered after work!*
*— Change is as good as a rest,* Eleanor smiled. *Some famous bloke said that. Tonight, you’re on duty. Let’s see how you manage. Oh—and if this carries on, I’ll divorce you. What’s the point of a husband who just nags? I’ll find one who loves me, helps with Lily, *doesn’t* treat me like staff. We’re splitting chores. Fifty-fifty.*
*— This is Harriet’s doing!* he snapped. *You’d let another man raise my child?*
*— You don’t raise her—you barely look at her,* Eleanor shot back. *You need *rest* after work, but I can’t even watch telly? Today’s *my* day off.*
She swept past him, taking Lily’s hand. The little girl clutched her plush bunny, still aglow from their adventure.
*— Fine! I’ll clean!* Edmund grumbled.
By midnight, he’d scrubbed, hoovered, and started the wash. Dinner? Scrambled eggs and bangers. They ate in silence, Lily already asleep.
*— So?* Eleanor said. *Still think I do nothing all day?*
Edmund hung his head:
*— I’m sorry, Ellie. I was wrong. I see it now—this is hard. You’re brilliant at it. I just… wanted to feel like the man of the house. But I’d be lost without you. I love you. Truly.*
*— I love you too, Ed,* she said softly. *But if this keeps up, I *will* leave. Love doesn’t make you less of a man. Neither does helping your wife.*
