Cooking has always been my passion. The aroma of fresh herbs, the sizzle of ingredients in a pan, and the joy of sharing a meal with loved ones bring me immense happiness. So, when I married Daniel, I poured my heart into preparing meals for us. It was my way of creating warmth and love in our home.
But things took a turn when Daniel started sending pictures of every dish I made to his mom, Carol, for her “feedback.” At first, it seemed harmless. He’d snap a photo of my spaghetti and text it to her. Moments later, her critique would arrive: “The sauce looks a little runny.”
It didn’t stop there. Cookies were “overbaked,” steak was “too rare,” and chili “needed more cumin.” I tried to brush it off, but the constant criticism from someone who wasn’t even at our table began to wear on me.
The breaking point came when I spent hours making a lasagna from scratch. As soon as I served it, Daniel took a photo and sent it to Carol. Her response? “It looks dry. Did you forget the ricotta?”
That’s when I decided to teach him a lesson. The next evening, I made his favorite—Chicken Parmesan. As he reached for his phone to take a picture, I beat him to it. “Oh, just sending a picture to my mom,” I said, smirking. I sent the photo to Carol with a message: “Hope it meets your standards. Let me know if I should throw it straight in the trash. 😊”
Daniel’s face turned red, but he finally ate without waiting for her approval. For a while, things improved. But then I caught him whispering on the phone, planning to secretly send more photos.
The final lesson came when I made a romantic steak dinner. As he sat down, I took a photo—not of the food, but of him mid-bite. I sent it to Carol with a message: “Thoughts? Should I let him finish or make him starve until he learns to appreciate me? 😊”
That was the end of it. No more photos, no more critiques. Daniel finally understood that it wasn’t about the food—it was about respect. And in the end, victory tasted even better than Chicken Parmesan.
