"YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A WIFE, NOT A GUEST!" MY HUSBAND SH0UTED WHEN I REFUSED TO COOK FOR HIS FAMILY
“And my opinion doesn’t matter to anyone?” Natasha said, placing the dustpan back on the shelf as she turned to her husband. There was pain in her voice. “I’m a person too, Lucifer. I’m tired.”
“You must remember you’re a wife, not a guest!” Lucifer barked, his face reddening with anger. “You have responsibilities to the family!”
Natasha tapped her fingers on the countertop, watching as the kettle began to bubble, filling the kitchen with steam. The Sunday morning air was unusually quiet, as though the world had decided to grant her a brief reprieve. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, gently illuminating every corner, every speck of dust. For a moment, she simply stood there, soaking in the rare stillness.
Five years ago, when Lucifer and Natasha had moved into the apartment, its walls were bare, the décor minimal. Now, every corner radiated warmth and comfort. She remembered the time spent choosing the perfect wallpaper for the living room, the endless debates with Lucifer over the color of the curtains, and the joy she felt when she finally found the ideal sofa.
“Good morning,” Lucifer greeted sleepily as he shuffled into the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes,” Natasha said with a smile, pulling ingredients from the fridge. “And some fresh coffee.”
Lucifer approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
“You really are the mistress of the house, aren’t you?” he remarked in a tone that immediately put Natasha on guard. Something about his voice hinted at an ulterior motive.
“What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing in particular,” Lucifer replied, looking away. “It’s just that my mother and Katherine plan to drop by. Just for lunch.”
Natasha exhaled sharply. “Just for a little while” in Lucifer’s family often stretched into long hours. She clenched her fists, fighting to keep her frustration from showing.
“What time will they arrive?” she asked, her voice already laced with tension.
“Around one or two,” Lucifer said, pausing before adding, “and… Katherine will bring the kids.”
Natasha silently counted to ten. Katherine’s six-year-old twins were more than mischievous—they were miniature hurricanes. After their visits, the apartment always resembled the aftermath of a war zone.
“Fine,” Natasha said, grabbing a frying pan and turning on the stove. “I suppose I’ll have to dash to the store—there’s not enough food.”
“Honey, you know how much my mother loves your dishes,” Lucifer said, trying to pull her into an embrace. But Natasha sidestepped, pretending not to notice.
Victoria Demson, Lucifer’s mother, never missed an opportunity to critique Natasha’s cooking. Sometimes the soup was too salty, sometimes the meat undercooked, and sometimes the salad was labeled too bland.
By two o’clock, the apartment sparkled with cleanliness. In the oven, a casserole of potatoes and meat roasted, filling the air with its mouthwatering aroma. In the fridge sat the cake that Victoria adored, waiting to be served.
The doorbell rang at precisely 14:15. Natasha adjusted her apron and went to answer.
“Niku-sha!” Victoria Demson burst into the hallway like a whirlwind, her coat trailing behind her. “How are you, dear?”
Katherine followed closely, her twins charging into the living room without removing their shoes.
“Kids, shoes!” Natasha called out sharply.
“Oh, let them be,” Victoria interjected, waving her hand dismissively. “You know how hard it is for them to sit still.”
Natasha pressed her lips together, watching dirty footprints streak across her light carpet. Every time, she wondered why no one taught them to remove their shoes, but she kept her thoughts to herself. No one listened anyway.
“What’s for lunch?” Katherine asked, stepping into the kitchen. “Oh, casserole? Mom, remember the one I made last week with mushrooms? It was a masterpiece!”
“Of course I do, sweetheart,” Victoria said with a smile, settling at the table. “Niku-sha, you could learn a thing or two from Katherine. She has such a talent for cooking.”
Natasha stayed silent, methodically arranging the c:u:tlery. From the living room, a cra$h echoed—something had fallen to the floor.
“Lucifer, can you see what your nephews have done?” Natasha said calmly.
“Oh, come on,” Lucifer replied dismissively, not even looking up. “Let them play—they’re just kids.”
“Exactly!” Victoria chimed in. “Niku-sha, you’re so proper. Everything has to be perfect with you.”
“I just like order,” Natasha replied softly.
“There should be life in a home!” Victoria declared loudly. “You’re always fussing over cleanliness, Niku-sha. Imagine if you had kids—you’d be chasing them with a rag all day!”
Natasha felt her cheeks b:u:rn. The topic of children was a raw one—after two failed pregnancies, doctors had advised her to wait before trying again. She sw@ll0wed the words b:u:rning on her t0ngue and stayed silent.
Lunch unfolded in the same ve!n. Victoria offered unsolicited advice, Katherine boasted about her culinary skills, and the twins left a trail of cha0s throughout the apartment. Lucifer sat back, seemingly enjoying the lively atmosphere, oblivious to the growing tension in Natasha.
“You know, Niku-sha,” Victoria said, finishing her second slice of cake, “Katherine and I were thinking—maybe we should gather at your place every Sunday? Your kitchen is so spacious, and you cook… well, with soul.”
SEE THE CONTINUATION IN THE COMMENTS BELOW!
"YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A WIFE, NOT A GUEST!" MY HUSBAND SH0UTED WHEN I REFUSED TO COOK FOR HIS FAMILY
“And my opinion doesn’t matter to anyone?” Natasha said, placing the dustpan back on the shelf as she turned to her husband. There was pain in her voice. “I’m a person too, Lucifer. I’m tired.”
“You must remember you’re a wife, not a guest!” Lucifer barked, his face reddening with anger. “You have responsibilities to the family!”
Natasha tapped her fingers on the countertop, watching as the kettle began to bubble, filling the kitchen with steam. The Sunday morning air was unusually quiet, as though the world had decided to grant her a brief reprieve. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, gently illuminating every corner, every speck of dust. For a moment, she simply stood there, soaking in the rare stillness.
Five years ago, when Lucifer and Natasha had moved into the apartment, its walls were bare, the décor minimal. Now, every corner radiated warmth and comfort. She remembered the time spent choosing the perfect wallpaper for the living room, the endless debates with Lucifer over the color of the curtains, and the joy she felt when she finally found the ideal sofa.
“Good morning,” Lucifer greeted sleepily as he shuffled into the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes,” Natasha said with a smile, pulling ingredients from the fridge. “And some fresh coffee.”
Lucifer approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
“You really are the mistress of the house, aren’t you?” he remarked in a tone that immediately put Natasha on guard. Something about his voice hinted at an ulterior motive.
“What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing in particular,” Lucifer replied, looking away. “It’s just that my mother and Katherine plan to drop by. Just for lunch.”
Natasha exhaled sharply. “Just for a little while” in Lucifer’s family often stretched into long hours. She clenched her fists, fighting to keep her frustration from showing.
“What time will they arrive?” she asked, her voice already laced with tension.
“Around one or two,” Lucifer said, pausing before adding, “and… Katherine will bring the kids.”
Natasha silently counted to ten. Katherine’s six-year-old twins were more than mischievous—they were miniature hurricanes. After their visits, the apartment always resembled the aftermath of a war zone.
“Fine,” Natasha said, grabbing a frying pan and turning on the stove. “I suppose I’ll have to dash to the store—there’s not enough food.”
“Honey, you know how much my mother loves your dishes,” Lucifer said, trying to pull her into an embrace. But Natasha sidestepped, pretending not to notice.
Victoria Demson, Lucifer’s mother, never missed an opportunity to critique Natasha’s cooking. Sometimes the soup was too salty, sometimes the meat undercooked, and sometimes the salad was labeled too bland.
By two o’clock, the apartment sparkled with cleanliness. In the oven, a casserole of potatoes and meat roasted, filling the air with its mouthwatering aroma. In the fridge sat the cake that Victoria adored, waiting to be served.
The doorbell rang at precisely 14:15. Natasha adjusted her apron and went to answer.
“Niku-sha!” Victoria Demson burst into the hallway like a whirlwind, her coat trailing behind her. “How are you, dear?”
Katherine followed closely, her twins charging into the living room without removing their shoes.
“Kids, shoes!” Natasha called out sharply.
“Oh, let them be,” Victoria interjected, waving her hand dismissively. “You know how hard it is for them to sit still.”
Natasha pressed her lips together, watching dirty footprints streak across her light carpet. Every time, she wondered why no one taught them to remove their shoes, but she kept her thoughts to herself. No one listened anyway.
“What’s for lunch?” Katherine asked, stepping into the kitchen. “Oh, casserole? Mom, remember the one I made last week with mushrooms? It was a masterpiece!”
“Of course I do, sweetheart,” Victoria said with a smile, settling at the table. “Niku-sha, you could learn a thing or two from Katherine. She has such a talent for cooking.”
Natasha stayed silent, methodically arranging the c:u:tlery. From the living room, a cra$h echoed—something had fallen to the floor.
“Lucifer, can you see what your nephews have done?” Natasha said calmly.
“Oh, come on,” Lucifer replied dismissively, not even looking up. “Let them play—they’re just kids.”
“Exactly!” Victoria chimed in. “Niku-sha, you’re so proper. Everything has to be perfect with you.”
“I just like order,” Natasha replied softly.
“There should be life in a home!” Victoria declared loudly. “You’re always fussing over cleanliness, Niku-sha. Imagine if you had kids—you’d be chasing them with a rag all day!”
Natasha felt her cheeks b:u:rn. The topic of children was a raw one—after two failed pregnancies, doctors had advised her to wait before trying again. She sw@ll0wed the words b:u:rning on her t0ngue and stayed silent.
Lunch unfolded in the same ve!n. Victoria offered unsolicited advice, Katherine boasted about her culinary skills, and the twins left a trail of cha0s throughout the apartment. Lucifer sat back, seemingly enjoying the lively atmosphere, oblivious to the growing tension in Natasha.
“You know, Niku-sha,” Victoria said, finishing her second slice of cake, “Katherine and I were thinking—maybe we should gather at your place every Sunday? Your kitchen is so spacious, and you cook… well, with soul.”
SEE THE CONTINUATION IN THE COMMENTS BELOW! ⬇️⬇️
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