Here’s your 300-word story:
I was exhausted. After a long day of caring for our newborn son—feeding, rocking, and barely getting a moment to breathe—I finally laid him down for the night. My stomach growled as I walked into the kitchen, looking forward to the dinner my husband had promised to save me.
But when I opened the fridge, I saw nothing. No plate, no leftovers. Just an empty pot in the sink.
Confused, I turned to my husband, who was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Where’s dinner?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He barely looked up. “Oh, I figured you weren’t hungry, so I finished it.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You didn’t think to save me anything? I’ve been feeding our baby all evening.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know when you’d be done.”
A lump formed in my throat—not just from hunger, but from something deeper. I felt invisible. Unimportant. As if my needs didn’t matter because I was too busy being a mother.
Without another word, I grabbed a granola bar from the pantry and ate it in silence. He didn’t even notice.
That night, as I lay in bed, listening to our baby’s soft breathing, I realized something. Motherhood had changed me, but it had also revealed things about my marriage I hadn’t noticed before.
It wasn’t just about the food. It was about consideration, about effort. About being seen.
And at that moment, I knew something had to change—because I deserved better.
Would you like me to adjust the tone or expand on any part of it?
