I treat myself to premium turkey and whip up juicy steamed patties, while he’s stuck with expired pork chops.

The flickering evening light bounces off the kitchen tiles as Margaret, aged fifty-seven, stands at her counter, clutching her favourite mug of Earl Grey. After more than three decades of marriage to her husband, Edward, she reflects on the years spent tidying his shirts, roasting dinners, and filling their home with warmth and care. Their two children grew up under her diligent watch, sent off to respected schools where she attended every parent evening and award ceremony herself. Life always felt relentless, like she was chasing her tailjuggling several jobs and grasping extra shifts so the children could hold their heads high, never wanting for new coats and shoes.

All these years, Edward mostly shirked real work. When he finally hit retirement, he simply planted himself at home, content to lounge around while Margaret pressed oncommuting to work, minding the grandchildren, and keeping the house ticking. Shed asked him time and again: Cant you do something, Edward? Even at Tesco as a night porter? But hed wave her off, smugly declaring that their finances didnt need his effort. No need to jeopardise my evenings for a bit of pocket change, hed laugh, as Margaret barely found time to stir a casserole between work and fret. Sometimes, coming in after a long day, shed find the prime bits goneEdward had eaten the roast chicken and left her the soup.

She confided in her friend Linda over tea, hoping for wisdom. Linda offered the advice with a sharp wink: cook separatelylet Edward have budget ingredients, and keep the good stuff for yourself. That evening, Margaret braced herself and told Edward: Doctors orders, love. I need to go on a special diet now. Best not to touch my meals. From then on, she started hiding her cakes and biscuits in the cupboard; when Edward wandered off to the garden shed, she enjoyed her treats in peace. She stashed the mature cheddar and honey-roast ham at the back of their second fridgea battered old thing stuffed with picklesbalancing everything just right so he wouldnt notice.

You know how men arehalf the time they dont see a thing. For herself, Margaret buys the finest British turkey for steaming cutlets, and gives Edward sausages past their best-by date, masking the flavour with Worcestershire sauce and spices. He doesnt seem to mind. She grabs cheap supermarket pasta for him, while she has proper Italian durum wheat tucked away for herself.

Theres not an ounce of guilt in her routine. If Edward wants to eat better, let him get up and find workno reason for him to sit around piling on the pounds. Divorce seems foolish now; theyve shared a lifetime and a cosy house in Kent. Why break it all apart and split the pounds sterling, when the years have already slipped by? Margaret simply pours another cup of tea, savouring a quiet moment and a slice of her favourite fruitcake, content that shes earned it all.