When my husband Mike tossed $20 at me and demanded I cook a Thanksgiving feast for his family, I realized I was done being his personal chef, maid, and doormat. He thought I’d let it slide, but I planned to serve him something unforgettable this Thanksgiving.
For two years, I bent over backward to keep Mike and his family happy. But every meal I cooked and every spotless room I cleaned only seemed to remind them of what they thought I owed them.
So, this year, I decided it was time to show them just how much they’d underestimated me.
When Mike and I married two years ago, I thought I’d found my forever partner. We were happy, or at least I thought we were. Then, little by little, things started to change.
At first, it was the small things like Mike leaving his dirty laundry wherever he pleased or expecting me to handle the groceries. But then his parents, Maureen and Richard, began treating me like I had married into their family to become their unpaid chef and housekeeper.
Maureen would make sly comments whenever they visited.
“A wife who cooks for her husband every night is a blessing,” she’d say.
Richard wasn’t much better. He was always “joking” about how I should consider opening a catering business since I was already “running one for free.” Their constant remarks and expectations were exhausting.
The worst, though, was a few weeks ago.
Maureen had called, announcing that she and Richard would be dropping by for dinner. Dropping by meant staying for hours and criticizing my cooking. When I suggested ordering takeout, Maureen gasped, “Takeout? For family? Oh no, Alyssa. You’ve set the bar too high to lower it now.”
Mike just shrugged and said, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Why didn’t I answer back? Because I wanted to keep the peace. I wanted to keep Mike happy. But the love I had for him wore thinner with every passing day.
This brings us to Thanksgiving.
We were only inviting Mike’s parents and his two brothers, but even a small Thanksgiving meant a mountain of expectations for me.
Two days before the holiday, Mike decided to take his laziness to a new level.
We were sitting at the kitchen table going over our budget. Money had been tight lately, and I had been quietly setting aside what little I could because Mike’s spending habits weren’t exactly responsible.
He slid the last $20 bill we had across the table and said with a grin, “Here, make Thanksgiving dinner with this.”
I laughed. “Mike, $20? That won’t even cover a turkey.”
“Well,” he said, leaning back, “Mom always managed to make amazing dinners with no money. Figure it out. Don’t embarrass me in front of my family.”
I couldn’t believe it. For two years, I poured my heart into this marriage, only for him to throw this at me.
As he walked away, something in me snapped. I wasn’t going to cry this time. I wasn’t going to fight. I was going to plan.
Every time Mike asked if I’d “figured out” Thanksgiving, I smiled and assured him everything would be perfect. He even bragged to his brothers about how “resourceful” I was.
That $20 he offered? I left it exactly where he placed it.
Instead, I dipped into my savings — the savings he never knew about because he assumed I didn’t need my own money.
I wasn’t just planning a dinner. I was planning a statement.
I ordered a catered Thanksgiving feast from the best place in town — perfectly roasted turkey, creamy mashed potatoes, fresh-baked rolls, three kinds of pie, and even fancy cranberry sauce. I picked up beautiful table settings and decorations, too.
The night before Thanksgiving, while I set everything up, Mike walked in with his usual smug grin.
“I knew you’d pull it off,” he said. “You’re lucky to have a husband who believes in you.”
Lucky? I almost laughed. But I kept calm. “You’ll see tomorrow.”
On Thanksgiving morning, the house looked like something out of a holiday catalog. Mike didn’t notice the takeout containers hidden in the trash. He was too busy basking in the idea of his family’s approval.
By the time his parents and brothers arrived, everything was in place.
“You guys are in for a treat,” Mike boasted.
His mom scanned the room critically. “Hmm, you missed a spot on that shelf,” she muttered.
I smiled politely. “I’ll make a note for next time.”
Richard chuckled and patted Mike’s back.
“You picked a good one, son. Alyssa’s a keeper.”
“Yeah, she’s great,” Mike said. “I gave her a tight budget, and she still managed to pull this off.”
Tight budget? TWENTY dollars?
I let it slide — for the moment.
Finally, dinner was served. Compliments flowed from every direction.
“This turkey is so moist,” one brother said.
“The cranberry sauce tastes homemade,” Maureen added.
Then Mike raised his glass.
“To Alyssa, the best cook in the family!”
I stood up. “Thank you, Mike. That means a lot. But I’d like to say a few words.”
The room fell silent.
“This year, I wanted to make Thanksgiving truly special. Mike gave me a generous $20 budget, so I had to get creative.”
Maureen froze. Richard glanced at Mike. His brothers looked stunned.
“But while planning this dinner, I realized something important. It’s not just about the food or decorations. It’s about the effort and respect that go into making a home feel like a family. And I’ve been doing it alone for two years.”
Mike cleared his throat. “Honey, maybe now’s not the—”
“Oh, I think it is,” I said. “Because I’ve been treated like a maid and a personal chef. And that ends today.”
He tried again. “Alyssa, you’re blowing this out of propor—”
“This dinner?” I cut in. “It’s catered — from the fancy place you said we couldn’t afford.”
Maureen and Richard stared at their plates as though betrayed.
“Yes,” I said. “Because I figured I deserved a break. And by the way, this is the last Thanksgiving meal I’ll ever make for this family. Next year, you figure it out. Maybe Maureen can show you how she cooks with no money.”
I grabbed my purse and walked out the door. The cool November air hit my face like freedom.
I drove to a park, opened the bottle of wine I’d packed, and enjoyed my first peaceful Thanksgiving in years.
Meanwhile, my phone buzzed nonstop.
You embarrassed me!
Come back and we’ll talk.
You’re overreacting.
Fix it? I laughed out loud. I’d spent two years fixing everything for him.
When I got home that night, the house was dark. The catered food sat untouched. Chairs had been pushed back in a hurry. The shock must have been enormous.
The next morning, Mike cornered me.
“You can’t just walk out like that! You made me look like a fool.”
“Did I?” I asked. “Or did YOU, by treating me like I wasn’t worth more than $20?”
He sputtered something about how his parents had been “too hard” on me, but I was done.
A week later, I served him divorce papers.
“You’re serious?” he asked.
“Dead serious. I deserve better.”
In the weeks that followed, I felt lighter than ever. Mike moved out, and the house finally felt peaceful. I decorated for Christmas with ornaments I loved.
For the first time in years, I was actually looking forward to the holidays — because they were mine, and I didn’t have to worry about pleasing anyone else.
