Go Make Me a Sandwich!” – My Husband’s Demand That Pushed Me Over the Edge

“Get in the kitchen now!” My husbands voice cut through the air, and something inside me snapped.

Emily stared at her phone screen. For the fourth time in half an hour, James had messaged: *”Pick up, you daft cow.”*

She sat behind the wheel of the learner car, her instructor patiently explaining parallel parking. The phone buzzed again.

“Can I take this? My husbands worried.”

“Go ahead.”

“James, Im driving”

“Why arent you answering? Ive been calling!”

“I cant talk while”

“Oh, right. Getting your license is more important than your husband. When are you coming home?”

“In an hour.”

“And whos making dinner? Or is that my job now?”

The instructor turned away, pretending not to hear.

“Ill cook when I get back.”

“Good. Thought Id married a businesswoman now.”

At home, James lounged on the sofa, scrolling his phone. Three months unemployed, he insisted it was temporary, but the job hunt dragged on.

“Hows driving school? Mastering rocket science?” The smirk in his voice was familiar.

“Its fine. Practiced parallel parking today.”

“Oh, very serious stuff, then?”

Emily walked into the kitchen. The sink was piled with unwashed disheshis breakfast.

“James, could we finally unpack those boxes? Its February, and it still feels like we just moved in.”

He barely glanced up.

“Whats there to unpack? You can manage.”

“We could do it together. And maybe tidy up”

James stood and stepped closer. Something cold flickered in his eyes.

“Get in the kitchen.”

He didnt shout. Just said itquiet, deliberate. The silence was worse than any scream.

Emily froze.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. Go make dinner.”

“We were talking about the boxes”

“Talking? You were whinging. I said you can handle it.”

Something inside her broke. Not from hurtfrom understanding. She remembered New Years Eve at his friends house, where he was the life of the party. Flirting with every woman, joking, helping the hostess. Then, in the car afterward:

“Why were you so quiet all night? Embarrassed me.”

“Im not going to the kitchen!”

His brows lifted.

“What?”

“I said no.”

“Emily, dont push me. We were getting along fine.”

“Fine? When was the last time you spoke to me like a person?”

James set his phone down.

“Whats your problem? It was just a joke.”

“A joke? *Daft cow, pick up*thats a joke too?”

“Cant I text my wife?”

“You can. Just not like that.”

“Christ, whats the big deal? You know I didnt mean it.”

“I know. Thats why Ive stayed quiet.”

Emily sat on the edge of the bed.

“You know what my instructor said today? Youve got steady hands. Imagine that. Steady. At home, Im afraid to ask for help with boxes.”

“Afraid?” James laughed. “Oh, come off it!”

“I am. Because I know youll find a way to make me feel useless.”

“Thats rubbish! Youre twisting things.”

“Am I? Remember when you told your mates I was *playing at driving school*?”

“It was funny!”

“To you. To me, it was humiliating.”

James sat beside her on the sofa.

“Look, if you dont like how I talk”

“Then what?”

“The doors right there.”

Silence. Emily looked at him. No apology. No explanation. Just a gesture toward the exit.

“Alright.”

She stood, pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, and began packing.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking your suggestion.”

“Where will you go?”

“To Sophies.”

“Youll storm off, cry to your friends, then come crawling back. Like always.”

“Like always?”

“Women love drama. Slamming doors, making scenes.”

Emily packed her documents, toiletries, charger.

“And then groveling back!”

She reached for the box of wedding photos. Pulled one outthem at the registry office, smiling.

“Would you have spoken to me like that here?”

James glanced at the photo.

“There were people around.”

“And here?”

“Here, its just family. I can relax.”

Emily carefully returned the photo. Zipped the suitcase.

“Relax Right.”

“Wait. Lets talk.”

“Whats to discuss? Youve shown me exactly who I am to you at home.”

In the hallway, she pulled on her coat. James stood barefoot in his sweatpants.

“Oh, stop it! All couples argue.”

“We didnt argue.”

Emily gripped the door handle.

“You just decided you could treat me like this now.”

The door slammed. Behind her, his voice rang out:

“You wont get far!”

Two weeks later, a text arrived: *”Ill swing by tomorrow when Ive got time.”*

Her friend Sophie shook her head.

“Why even meet him?”

“I need to be sure Im right.”

The café near the station. James sat down half an hour late.

“Howve you been?” No apology for the delay.

“Fine.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Sophies, for now.”

The *for now* slipped outan old habit of softening things.

“The flats a mess. Dishes piled up, laundry not done. Lucky the neighbor helped with shopping.”

A waitress approachedpretty, brunette, mid-twenties.

“What can I get you?”

“Two coffees,” James said, smiling at her.

“Anything sweet to go with?”

“Our cakes are lovely”

“Then bring the best ones.”

He slid off his wedding ring and set it on the table.

“Now that theres no one at home to nag about tidying, I can spoil myself.”

The waitress giggled.

“Can you even cook?”

“Course! A mans got to eat. At least no ones moaning about socks on the floor.”

Emily stared at the ring.

“Or begging for help unpacking.”

He kept going. Right then, she realizedhe was turning their story into a joke for a stranger.

“So,” he turned back to her, “done with the theatrics? Its dull without you.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Im not coming back.”

For the first time, James actually looked at her.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Emily stood, dropped cash for the coffee on the table.

“Wait. You know what youre doing?”

“I do. For the first time in three months.”

“Emily! Were adults!”

“Exactly. Thats why Im leaving.”

Outside, wet snow fell. Inside, James was already explaining to the waitressprobably complaining about his unreasonable wife.

A month later, Emily rented a small flat. Passed her driving test. Started a new job.

Once, she spotted James in the supermarket with a younger woman. Laughing, picking out groceries. She walked past unnoticed.

She wonderedhow long before he told her, *”Get in the kitchen”*? A month? Two?

That evening, Emily stood by her window with a cup of tea. Her phone lay silent on the table. No more messages calling her *daft cow.*

She thought of the women who stay. Who believe *he doesnt mean it*, that *all men are like this.* And she felt not anger, but sadness.

Her phone lit upa message from a colleague about tomorrows meeting. Polite. Respectful.

Emily smiled and replied. Then she sat on her sofain her home, where she could ask for help without fear of mockery.