For three years, I cooked, cleaned, and washed dishes for my husband’s family of eight every Sunday lunch. Exhausted, I told him I’d had enough. He countered, “They got us the house, is this your thank you?” The next Sunday, I made just enough of their favorite dish for them, none for me. When they noticed I wasn’t eating, I calmly said it was all for them. The awkwardness hit when the food ran out. My husband was embarrassed but didn’t grasp my point.
The following Sunday, I didn’t cook. I greeted them warmly, offering bread and butter. They were stunned but polite. His sister apologized later, admitting they’d been rude. She brought dessert the next time; his mom brought salad. Slowly, they helped more. My husband, initially distant, began to understand. He washed dishes one night, admitting he’d taken me for granted.
Months later, he revealed the house wasn’t fully ours—his parents held the title as leverage. We saved and bought it out. The first Sunday after, we ate alone, peacefully. My sister-in-law later left her boyfriend, inspired by my stand. Setting boundaries showed me love requires respect, not just giving. Sometimes, change starts with setting the table for yourself.
