It began on a seemingly mundane weekend, the kind with an endless cycle of household chores and work obligations. My husband, often playful but sometimes cutting with his humor, had taken his jests a step too far this time.

Honestly, for the past two years of our marriage, he has been rude to me all the time. According to him, everything I did was wrong. He’d criticize me, telling me I am not keeping the house right, that I have become overweight and ugly, and mainly that my food is bad!

Cooking has never been my forte, according to him.

“You don’t know how to do anything at all; you can’t even perform your main function properly,” he’d say, half-teasing, half-serious. But recently, his words pierced deeper than he realized.

Last weekend, as I navigated the kitchen trying to prepare a dinner that I hoped could potentially soften his critiques, I made pasta. Not just any pasta—a chunky sauce with meatballs and veggies, the kind that simmers on the stove for hours, melding flavors into a comforting embrace.

My husband was deep in work for his business, trying to meet a deadline, so I didn’t mind handling the cooking and really applied myself this time.

“Dinner is ready,” I announced, hoping for a moment of peace, a ceasefire in our ongoing culinary war.

“What kind of garbage is for dinner today?” he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain and a great emphasis on the word “garbage” without even seeing what I’d prepared.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Exhausted from working as a nurse and wounded by memories of past abuses tied to such derogatory words, I reacted.

The pot of sauce, my afternoon’s labor of love, crashed to the floor, splattering the living room rug in a vivid display of my frustration. I made this declaration before storming out:

“Well, nothing’s for dinner tonight now. And I better not hear you using that word again or speaking to me that way.”

Instead of adhering to my discomfort and upset, he was more worried about his precious rug. “That is a very expensive rug, Jenna! How could you drop food on it like that, I was just joking anyway!” he tried to brush me off.

Seeing that I was quite upset and not budging to clean up the mess, he jokingly added:

“Oh come on, you know I’ll eat it anyway, I just don’t know what else to call it.”

Maybe it was because I had a difficult day or perhaps I had enough of the “jokes,” I just walked out without responding to him and got takeout for myself before going over to my friend’s house. She thought what Jimmy said was funny, but he was now furious and kept texting and calling and sending me voice messages trying to explain himself.

He kept saying “What kind of garbage is for dinner today?” was a TikTok trend. And that he was just quoting the words as part of the trending joke to put on TikTok.

But the damage was done. The disrespect, whether veiled in humor or not, was too much to bear.

I found it quite shocking for him to demean me when I was basically doing him a favor since it was actually his night to cook something. Jimmy kept calling and sending messages until I switched my phone off, feeling that this was the last time and he’d crossed all the lines.

Although Kelly initially thought all the drama was a joke, when she saw how hurt I was and explained that it wasn’t the first incident where something like this happened, she started supporting me. I spent hours crying!

Then, I came up with my perfect revenge—a plan so daring it could either break us further apart or wake him to the severity of his actions.

I came home late and found my husband was asleep. I knew he kept all his pin codes and passwords for his cards, bank accounts, his work accounts on his phone, so I took a look at them.

The next morning, I woke him up with kisses and apologies. Showing that he was still upset from last night, he just sarcastically said, “Oh, now you’re such a good wife.”

I made him his favorite breakfast and really tried harder than ever this time… and he unexpectedly approved of it!

While he was getting ready for work, I made him a sandwich to go. He didn’t want to take it but finally accepted and left with it for work.

However, what he didn’t know was that there was a small secret ingredient, a small note I left in it. The note read, “Now look what real garbage is. See you again – never.”

I only had three more steps left before I could wait for the sweet taste of revenge. Firstly, I packed my things, I was not ready to stay any longer and I had had enough of the humiliation.

A few hours later my phone started ringing but I didn’t answer. Jimmy ended up sending me a pleading message where he wrote, “Jen, I found your note, please, don’t do that to me! I AM SORRY!”

But amidst his pleas, I remained resolute. The only response I gave him, my second step, was to turn the note around to see what was on the other side. The message read:

“Glad to turn your career into garbage, wait for the call. See you – never again.”

Another thing you guys don’t know about Jimmy is that he loved to brag to me about how smart he is and how he’d found a way to make money from his company.

After a few hours when he left, I took the last step of my revenge by writing a letter from his email to his management where, on his behalf, I revealed all his frauds!

Afterward reading the second part of my note and realizing what I had done, I began to receive text messages with more of his apologies and repentance, but I didn’t care.

At that time, I was totally satisfied with what I did and was a free woman! Of course, I divorced him soon enough!

My parting gift had been more than a simple note; it was a revelation of his own misdeeds, a mirror reflecting the consequences of his actions back at him.

As I ventured into a new beginning, free from the shadows of demeaning words and unappreciated efforts, I pondered the journey ahead. The sandwich, a symbol of the end, was also a beacon of hope—a testament to the strength found in standing up for oneself, in demanding respect and understanding.

In the quiet aftermath, as I navigated the path forward, I realized the true measure of worth wasn’t found in the meals prepared or the words said in jest but in the dignity preserved in walking away from those who fail to see your value. And so, with a heart both heavy and liberated, I embraced my newfound freedom, a future unwritten but promising a feast of respect, love, and self-worth!

If you thought that story was bad, you have seen nothing yet! Read on:

Welcome to the tale of the original poster (OP), her hubby, and his buddy Austin, which unfolded like a drama on the “AITA” forum of Reddit. Picture this: OP, a 35-year-old woman, and her 33-year-old husband are smack in the middle of a delicate situation because of Austin, a college pal of her spouse and a key player in their circle of friends.

Now, infertility is a tough topic for anyone, but for OP, it became a running joke for Austin, who didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Things hit a boiling point when he quipped about OP needing to “hurry up and give HIM [Austin] a nephew/niece” because, apparently, “my biological clock is ticking.” Can you believe that?!

The plot thickens when OP draws the line, refusing to cough up the cash for her husband’s trip with Austin, leading to a heated spat. The husband’s wish to still go on the trip, despite Austin’s tasteless jokes and expecting OP to foot the bill after losing his job, brings out the cracks in their relationship.

Her husband accused her of being spiteful, thinking she was keeping him from the trip as some form of punishment. But let’s be real, this is about more than just money. It’s about understanding, respect, and empathy, or rather, the glaring lack of it from her husband’s side.

He seems to miss the point that Austin’s “harmless” jokes are anything but to his wife. Despite OP’s attempts to make him see how Austin’s comments were affecting her, she’s met with dismissal, her feelings brushed off as being too sensitive.

It seems like her husband is wearing rose-colored glasses when it comes to Austin’s “brutal honesty.” This story isn’t just about a trip gone wrong or financial disagreements; it’s a deeper dive into relationship dynamics, empathy, and the struggles of dealing with infertility within those contexts.

It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, misunderstandings, and the quest for recognition and respect in the face of personal trials. And at the heart of it all, it’s a reminder of the importance of standing by your partner, especially when the going gets tough.