My Fridge Was Always Empty Despite My Cooking — One Evening, I Came Home Early and Finally Learned Where the Meals Had Gone
Through her cuisine, Doris gave her family her whole being for twenty-five years. However, she was perplexed when her meals started disappearing from the refrigerator. She returned home early one evening and caught the criminal in the act, which led to her abandoning everything she had known.
You don’t anticipate being betrayed by your spouse of twenty-five years. Not in the ostentatious, dramatic manner depicted in movies—no offshore bank accounts or hidden mistresses—but rather in the subtle, careless ways that erode confidence like rust on iron. It began with the refrigerator for me.
My love language has always been cooking. Jonah and Ellie, our children, grew up eating home-cooked meals almost every night. I enjoyed stocking the refrigerator with their favorite foods, such as casseroles, pasta, soups, and stews, even while I worked late nights at the hospital.
“Mom, how do you do it?” Ellie used to sit on the kitchen counter and ask. “Working all those crazy hours and still cooking like this?”
I would add, “Love, sweetie,” while making her favorite beef stew. “It’s all about love.”
I expected my kitchen job would slow down after the kids moved out, but it didn’t. I continued to cook with the same zeal, spending hours preparing dinners for my husband Randy and myself.
However, something changed in the process.
The refrigerator always looked like a crime scene when I got home. Shelves are empty. soiled containers left on the countertop. We went through meals that should have lasted a week in a few of days.
“Randy,” I said one evening, my voice heavy with fatigue, “where does all the food go?”
Without taking his eyes off his phone, he shrugged. “I was really hungry.”
“Hungry?” I pointed to the sink, which was piled high with soiled dishes. “Hungry enough to eat a lasagna, two soups, and an entire casserole in one day?”
He laughed. “What am I supposed to say? I’m developing as a boy.
“This isn’t funny, Randy,” I pressed, clutching the counter with shaking palms. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to make these meals?”
He looked up at last, flashing that contemptuous smirk I had come to despise. “Come on, Doris,” he said. “Cooking is something you love to do. It’s YOUR thing.
It hurt that he was so casual, but I ignored it. After working a 12-hour shift, I was too exhausted to protest.
We started doing this regularly. The food would disappear if I cooked. His justifications: “I skipped lunch,” “I was stress-eating,” “It’s just so good!”
I didn’t press him despite the fact that they were fragile.
“You know,” my coworker Sarah remarked one day during lunch, “Doris, this doesn’t seem normal. Have you thought about installing a camera?
I dismissed it with a giggle. “In my own kitchen? That is absurd.
She challenged, “Is it?” “Because something’s not adding up.”
I laughed, disregarding her misgivings. I believed Randy to be telling the truth. Up till the evening I arrived home early.
I went home before my shift finished that night due to a headache and nausea. Appreciating the quiet, I parked the car in our driveway. Confusion, however, took the place of my comfort as soon as I entered.
The sound of music could be heard rattling the windows from the kitchen.
“Randy?” I dropped my luggage on the couch and called.
No response.
There were lengthy shadows on the walls from the kitchen lights. May, Randy’s sister, was standing there facing away from me. She was systematically filling a disgusting pink tote bag with container after container of food from the refrigerator.
I watched her in shock and froze. It wasn’t until I took out my phone and began recording everything that she noticed me.
As the flash continued, she exclaimed, “Oh!” and spun around so quickly that she almost toppled a soup container. “Doris! You returned early.
My voice sounded cold. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh…” She flushed. “Just take what’s left over. “It’s okay,” Randy said. Tommy is here, and you are aware of the challenges of cooking with a five-year-old —”
I yelled, “Stop,” slicing through her justifications like a scalpel. “Return everything. RIGHT NOW.
Her smile wavered. “It’s not a huge thing, Doris. I am a member of the family.
“Family?” I let out a bark. “Families don’t commit theft. Your family doesn’t make you feel like your hard work is in vain.
“I didn’t steal anything!” May objected. “I got a key from Randy! “You always make too much anyway,” he replied.
“Too much?” As I gazed at the bag containing all of the stolen food, the words felt like acid in my throat. “You’ve been doing this on a regular basis, then? While I’m at work, coming here?”
Stuttering, “It’s not like that,” she said. “Randy said you wouldn’t mind —”
She started to argue, but I wasn’t finished yet. “Are you aware of the number of hours I spend standing up each day? Do you realize how much I’ve given up to keep this place running, just to discover my labors stuffed into your fucking tote bag when I get home?”
I was indifferent to the tears that glistened in May’s eyes. After struggling to replace the containers in the refrigerator, she grabbed her suitcase and ran away.
I was still standing in the kitchen when Randy walked downstairs, wiping his eyes as if he had just awoke from a deep sleep.
“What’s going on?” he questioned, scowling at the now partially empty refrigerator.
I silently held up my phone and played the video again.
“WHY?” My voice trembled as I asked. “Why would you let her do this?”
He said, “She needed help,” averting my eyes. “Doris, it’s only food. Why do you think it’s such a big deal?
“JUST FOOD?” It was a hollow laugh. “Randy, let me explain what ‘simply food’ means. To prepare meals before my shift, I had to get up at five in the morning. It entails my spending my weekends grocery shopping and creating menus. It indicates—”
He cut me off, saying, “For God’s sake, you’re acting like I committed a crime!”
I gaped at him, my incredulity becoming to rage. “Can you hear yourself at all? I blamed myself for not cooking enough and wondered where all the food was going for months, thinking I was going mad. And you were giving it out like it meant absolutely nothing the entire time!”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” His voice was suddenly harsh as he said. “She is Doris, my sister. What should I have done? Tell her no.
“YES!” I blew up. “That’s exactly what you should’ve done!”
He was deafeningly silent.
“You know what hurts the most?” I muttered. “You didn’t even ask me.” You simply determined that my time and effort were in vain.
Objecting, “That’s not fair,” “I appreciate everything you do —”
“No,” I interrupted him. “To show appreciation, one must ask for it. It’s not lying. I’m not going crazy over it.”
“Doris, you’re exaggerating a minor issue. Let me rest! By the way, what are you going to make for supper?
The boldness.
“Fine,” I yelled. “You’re on your own from now on. I’ll buy a closed refrigerator if you touch everything I make. And you’ll cook for me every day for a year if you want me to even entertain the idea of forgiving you.”
Randy’s expression twisted in shock. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” I grabbed my purse and shot back. “Well, tomorrow, we’ll see how absurd I feel. Chef Randy, good luck.
Randy made an effort to maintain appearances for two days. He placed an order for takeout, meticulously plated everything, and acted as though it was homemade. I wasn’t duped.
“This isn’t going to work,” I muttered, shoving aside a platter of lasagna that was clearly purchased from a store.
“I’m trying here,” he objected. “Isn’t that worth something?”
I said in a low voice, “Trying would have been respecting me in the first place,”
I came to terms with the fact that I wasn’t his wife by the third day. I was his handy fix, his cook, and his maid.
I was devastated by the realization. However, it also freed me.
They reacted just as I had anticipated when I called Jonah and Ellie to inform them that I was leaving Randy.
“Mom,” Jonah replied in a tone of incredulity, “you’re divorcing over food?”
Keeping my hand on the phone, I continued, “It’s not just food,”
“But Mom,” he said, “do you recall all those family meals? The Thanksgiving when we bought pizza after Dad burned the turkey? Those moments hold significance.
Ellie added, her voice brimming with rage. “You two have been together for twenty-five years, Mom. There must be some significance to that. Are you unable to solve it? Dad loves you, even though he can be a little lost at times.
“Clueless?” I said it again. “Is that what we’re calling deliberate deception now?”
Quiet.
I steadied my voice by taking a long breath. “Hear me out. When I showed him that footage, you couldn’t see his face. He didn’t feel bad or offer an apology. He pretended that I was insane for being angry. Respect is at stake here, not just the cuisine.
“But —” Jonah began, but I interrupted him.
“Are you aware of the pain that comes with feeling invisible? To discover that your most trusted individual doesn’t respect you or your time? I’m worn out after years of prioritizing other people over myself. I’m worthy of better.
“Mom,” Ellie began quietly, “remembering how you used to prepare my favorite mac and cheese whenever I was feeling down. Nor was it merely food, was it?
Before Ellie eventually responded, “I… I get it, Mom,” the line was silent once more. I understand, even though I don’t like it.
“Me too,” Jonah said grudgingly. “Just… do what you need to do.”
After a week, I prepared my belongings.
“You’re leaving?” With a hint of panic in his voice, Randy inquired. “About this? Please, Doris, let’s figure this out.”
“I’m done,” was all I said. “I deserve better.”
He begged, “What about everything we built?” “Doris, twenty-five years. Are you discarding that in favor of leftovers?
For the last time, I looked at him. “No, Randy. You tossed it aside. Container by container. Those weren’t leftovers, by the way. They served as symbols of my dedication and love. I’ll see you in court. “Goodbye.”
After the divorce, I began to rebuild after a few months. therapy. new pastimes. lengthy strolls during which I was free from accountability.
Then one day, a message from May buzzed on my phone:
“Hi, Doris. I wanted to let you know that Randy asked me to assist him with his meals. I initially responded “yes,” but now I understand. He’s not possible. I apologize for everything.
After a lengthy moment of staring at the message, I burst out laughing. Naturally, Randy had enlisted her. She had obviously reached her limit as well.
As a reminder, I now play the video of May packing her pink tote bag. I play it again whenever I start to have second thoughts and question whether I was too harsh or hasty to go. It serves as a reminder that I’m worthy of better.
