I Worked Until 9 P.M. While Six Adults Waited for Me to Cook—Then My Unemployed Husband Sla:pped Me, So I Snapped Their 3 Credit Cards in Half and Said, “Now Feed Yourselves”

survived.

Near my apartment, I entered a small diner that operated around the clock.

A silver-haired waitress approached with a menu.

“What sounds good tonight, honey?”

Such a simple question.

Yet I spent longer studying the menu than necessary.

For years, preparing dinner had felt like being evaluated.

What would Grant prefer?

Would Diane complain?

Did Mason dislike onions?

Was Paige avoiding carbohydrates again?

Would Russell arrive by eight?

Had I purchased enough groceries?

Could I afford everything?

What could I prepare fast enough to keep everyone satisfied?

Now, a