**Kitchen Drama: How Cabbage Rolls Wrecked a Marriage**
Emma, exhausted and weary, trudged home from the supermarket, clutching two heavy shopping bags. She barely made it to the kitchen before dropping them onto the counter and collapsing onto a chair, gasping for breath. The damp evening air in the small town of Oakbridge only deepened her fatigue.
“Hi, love, what’s for dinner?” called out Matthew, appearing in the doorway, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
“Matt, I just walked in—I haven’t even thought about it yet,” Emma sighed, tension tightening her shoulders. “I’m shattered.”
“Fancy making some cabbage rolls?” he suggested with a grin, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Emma looked up at him, eyes brimming with frustration. She paused for a second, gathering her strength, then blurted out before she could stop herself:
“You know what, Matt? We need a divorce.”
“What? Divorce? What’s got into you?” Matthew froze, his face a picture of bewilderment.
“Because of your bloody cabbage rolls!” Emma nearly shouted, her voice trembling.
“Cabbage rolls?” He stared at her like she’d lost her mind, completely baffled.
—
**10 Months Earlier**
Right after the wedding, Emma and Matthew sat down to discuss their finances. They thought they’d planned everything perfectly for their life in Oakbridge.
“We’re adults, Em,” Matthew declared confidently. “We’ll split everything 50/50—that way, no arguments.”
“I’m not sure, Matt,” Emma hesitated. “My ex-husband earned more, so he covered most expenses.”
“And how well did that work out for you?” Matthew smirked. “Besides, my ex spent money like water—I couldn’t keep up. No, equal shares means equal shares.”
Emma had hoped they’d pool their incomes, sharing expenses from a joint fund, but Matthew had a colder, more calculated approach.
“We split groceries and bills down the middle,” he explained. “The rest goes into savings. We could divide household chores too, but let’s not nickle and dime each other.”
The arrangement left Emma uneasy. It felt unfair, but she agreed, not wanting to start a fight. Yet as time passed, her patience wore thin. Matthew loved hearty meals—steaks, takeaways, full-English breakfasts—while Emma preferred light salads, yoghurts, and fruit. Their grocery budget devoured half her salary, leaving her struggling to afford even basics.
“This doesn’t make sense,” her friend Lucy remarked over tea. “You’re eating yoghurts while he scarfs down takeaways, but you pay the same?”
“It bothers me too,” Emma admitted, fidgeting with the tablecloth. “I agreed to it, but now I’m stuck. He’s eating through my wages while saving his own.”
“Make him buy his own food,” Lucy suggested. “That’s only fair.”
Emma had considered it but waited for Matthew to suggest it himself. Instead, he saw no issue.
“What’s the problem?” he’d ask whenever she brought it up.
“The problem is, half my salary goes on food **you** pick!” she snapped. “I can’t even afford decent face cream anymore!”
“That’s just married life, love. Get used to it.”
“I imagined it differently,” Emma replied quietly. “My first marriage wasn’t like this.”
“Oh, here we go—Saint Ex-Husband again!” Matthew rolled his eyes. “If he was so perfect, why’d you split?”
“We divorced because he cheated, not over money,” Emma muttered, the barb stinging.
“Figures,” he scoffed. “Your cooking’s nothing special, the place is always a mess, and all you do is complain.”
The words cut deep. Emma wasn’t a Michelin-star chef, but she kept the flat tidy and cooked daily. They’d rushed into marriage after a whirlwind romance, never living together first. Now, their differences were glaring. She liked omelettes and veggie bakes; he demanded roast dinners and kebabs. Cooking separate meals drained her time and money, and his constant jabs only made it worse.
“You’re nearly forty, and you’re whinging to your mum that I can’t wrap cabbage rolls?” Emma snapped.
“I’m not whinging—just saying. My mum’s a proper cook. You could learn a thing or two.”
Emma **could** cook—just not the stodgy meals Matthew worshipped. Every discussion about it ended in shouting.
“Just admit you’re too tight to buy proper meat!” he’d yell.
“Look at the receipts!” she shot back. “We’re spending **my** wages on **your** food. I can’t even save for clothes!”
“Fine, buy your own clothes then!”
Emma’s patience was threadbare. She started saving receipts to prove her point. A month later, she confronted him.
“Seventy percent of our food spending is yours. If we’re sharing costs, let’s do it fairly—by income.”
“Didn’t realise you were this petty,” Matthew muttered. “No wonder your ex bolted.”
“And yours left for sunshine and rainbows, I suppose?” Emma snapped.
After that, they barely spoke for days.
“We can’t go on like this,” Emma finally said. “We’re supposed to be a team.”
“You don’t respect my way of doing things,” Matthew grumbled.
“Your way isn’t fair.”
“So you want me to pay for everything? Not happening.”
Emma lasted a few more months before breaking. She was done funding his appetite while scrambling for cash. Repairs? Her responsibility. Groceries? Mostly his. One day, something inside her snapped.
“Matt, I can’t do this anymore,” she said after another row. “We need space.”
“Walking out, eh?” he sneered. “Fine, but don’t expect a penny from me.”
Emma packed her things and moved back to her parents’. Matthew never called. A month later, she filed for divorce. He didn’t contest it—and soon had another woman round. Emma wasn’t rushing into anything new. She needed time to figure out where she’d gone wrong, and how to start again.
