**A Kitchen Scandal: How Stuffed Cabbage Destroyed a Marriage**
Charlotte, exhausted and drained, trudged home from the supermarket, clutching two heavy bags in her aching hands. She stumbled into the kitchen, hurled the bags onto the counter, and collapsed onto a chair, gasping for breath. The damp evening air of the small town of Mapleford clung to her skin, amplifying her fatigue.
“Hey, Charlie, what’s for dinner?” came James’ voice as he leaned in the doorway, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
“James, I just walked in,” Charlotte sighed, tension knotting in her shoulders. “I haven’t even thought about it. I’m exhausted.”
“How about stuffed cabbage?” he suggested with a casual grin, as if it were the simplest request in the world.
Charlotte lifted her gaze, her eyes alight with weariness and restrained fury. For a second, she simply stared, gathering her strength before the words burst out:
“You know what, James? We should get a divorce.”
“What? Divorce? Where did that come from?” He froze, his face twisted in bewilderment.
“Because of your bloody stuffed cabbage!” she nearly shouted, her voice trembling with emotion.
“Because of *cabbage*?” James looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
—
**Ten Months Earlier**
Right after the wedding, Charlotte and James sat down to discuss their household finances. They thought they had it all planned out for a harmonious life in Mapleford.
“We’re adults, Charlie. We’ll split everything down the middle,” James declared confidently. “No arguments, no issues.”
“I don’t know, James,” Charlotte hesitated. “In my last marriage, my husband covered more because he earned more.”
“And how did that work out for you?” he sneered. “My ex-wife spent money like water—I couldn’t keep up. No, straight down the middle, that’s fair.”
Charlotte had hoped for a shared pot—one income supporting them both. But James insisted on cold, hard division.
“Groceries and bills are fifty-fifty,” he explained. “The rest goes into savings. And sure, we can split chores, but let’s not nickle-and-dime each other.”
The arrangement gnawed at her. She’d agreed to avoid conflict, but as the months passed, her patience frayed. James loved heavy meals—roasts, takeaways, greasy fry-ups—while Charlotte stuck to salads, yoghurts, and fruit. His appetite devoured nearly half her salary, leaving her scraping by.
“This is bizarre,” her friend Emily remarked over tea. “You’re eating cottage cheese while he orders kebabs, but you both pay the same?”
“I hate it,” Charlotte admitted, twisting the hem of her jumper. “But now I’m trapped. He’s eating my money and hoarding his own.”
“Make him buy his own food,” Emily suggested.
Charlotte had considered it, but she waited for James to offer—which he never did.
“What’s your problem?” he’d scoff when she brought it up.
“My problem? Half my wages go toward *your* food!” she snapped. “I can’t even afford decent moisturiser!”
“That’s marriage, love. Get used to it,” he’d brush her off.
Her resentment festered. He mocked her cooking, compared her to his mother, and dismissed her sacrifices.
“Next you’ll complain I don’t roll stuffed cabbage like your mum,” she spat once.
“I’m just saying, she cooks properly!”
Charlotte tried to compromise, but every conversation ended in a row.
“You’re just cheap!” James yelled once. “I’m not asking for caviar—just a proper Sunday roast!”
“Look at the receipts!” she shot back. “Seventy percent of the grocery bill is *yours*! If it’s shared, make it *fair*!”
“Never took you for a penny-pincher,” he muttered. “No wonder your ex left.”
“Oh, and yours stayed out of pure joy?”
Silence followed for days.
“We can’t go on like this,” Charlotte finally said.
“You don’t respect me,” he accused.
“And you don’t see how unfair this is!”
“What, you want me to pay for everything? Tough.”
She lasted a few more months before breaking. Household repairs fell to her, groceries drained her account, and one day—she snapped.
“I’m done, James.”
“Leaving? Fine. Just don’t come begging for money.”
She packed her bags and left. He never called. A month later, she filed for divorce. By then, he’d already moved on. Charlotte didn’t rush into anything new—she had too much to rethink.
