My wife Megan poured her heart into our family’s monthly dinners, but all she got in return were cruel comments from my relatives. After witnessing her tears one too many times, I set up a secret test to expose the real reason behind their relentless criticism. What I found out left me heartbroken.
Our family has a long-standing tradition of hosting monthly dinners, a custom that dates back to when my dad was a kid. My grandmother started it all by bringing her siblings together over meals, which strengthened their bond.
As Dad and his siblings grew up, they adopted this tradition and invited each other over for dinner every month. I still remember how my siblings and I used to wait for that day each month so we could meet our cousins and have a great time.
Mind you, these weren’t just ordinary family dinners. Dad would go all out with the decorations, while Mom ensured there were at least three dishes on the table.
I remember one time Dad even ordered pizza for us kids, and it turned into one of our best nights.
Now, since my siblings and I have grown up, we have also adopted this wonderful tradition.
A few months ago, my older sister, Angela, invited us to her place and she made the most delicious chicken pie I’ve eaten! Even my wife, Megan, loved it.
Since we took turns hosting, I had also invited my siblings, along with their spouses and kids, to our place multiple times. I have two older siblings; Dan and Angela, and two younger siblings; David and Gloria.
Usually, we have around 13-14 people when everyone comes over with their spouses and kids. Occasionally, my aunt Martha joins us too. We’ve always been close to her.
My wife was excited to be part of the tradition when we first started, even before we were married. Initially, I did the cooking, but she took over after a while.
“You know I find cooking to be very therapeutic, babe,” she reassured me. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”
That’s just how Megan is. So understanding and helpful.
I thought everything would be fine until the day we hosted dinner and revealed that Megan had cooked the food.
“I knew it!” Angela said. “I was wondering why the food tastes so off today. It’s just… so bland!”
“I agree,” Dan muttered. “Why is the chicken so dry?”
“Maybe use less seasoning next time,” Mom added.
I’ll never forget the look on Megan’s face that day. It hurt to see her so crushed, especially after all the effort she had put in.
“I think the chicken is perfect!” I cheered for Megan. “What do you think, David?”
“Yeah, it’s really nice,” David smiled at Megan. “It’s perfect!”
“Shouldn’t you cook what everyone likes?” my aunt asked Megan. “That way, no one will complain next time.”
“Yeah, I…” Megan began in a trembling voice, almost on the verge of crying. “I’ll cook something else next time.”
What’s wrong with them? I thought. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the chicken Megan had made. Honestly, it was even better than what I’d cooked the other day.
Later that night, I found Megan crying in the bedroom.
“Babe, they shouldn’t have treated you like that,” I said, hugging her tightly. “Your cooking was amazing. I promise. Even David loved it.”
“Only David said that,” she cried. “Everyone else hated it. I won’t cook for them again.”
“Hey, don’t let them get you down,” I said, looking her in the eyes. “You’re strong, remember?”
That night, I convinced Megan to cook for my family at the next family dinner, but I guess that was the biggest mistake of my life.
Megan cooked my mom’s favorite roasted chicken with a side of veggies, and the red sauce pasta that Angela loved. She had perfected her recipe by watching a couple of YouTube videos, hoping my family would love it.
However, when it was time for dinner, Mom and Angela passed the meanest remarks. I couldn’t believe my ears because I thought the food was phenomenal.
“I don’t think you should ever make this pasta again, Meg,” Angela said, shaking her head. “It tastes awful.”
“I’ll send you my recipe tonight,” Mom said, discreetly spitting out a piece of chicken. “This isn’t what I’d call roasted chicken.”
Megan just shook her head in silence as she looked at each one of them. Then, she walked into the kitchen, and I followed. I knew she was already in tears.
“Babe, I loved the food,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I don’t get why Mom and Angela are acting this way.”
“Your sister said the pasta tastes bad!” Megan whispered as tears trickled down her cheeks. “I made the one dish she loves the most and she doesn’t even like it. What am I supposed to do?”
That’s when I heard Mom say something that sent a wave of anger up my chest.
“She’s not even trying,” Mom said in a low voice so we couldn’t hear her.
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“Didn’t she learn from last time?” my father’s voice echoed through the living room.
That’s when I rushed toward the dinner table to defend Megan. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Can’t you guys be nice to her? What’s with all this drama?” I confronted them. “Why can’t you just appreciate her a bit? She always works so hard to cook for you guys!”
“Really?” Angela raised an eyebrow. “Then why can’t she ever get anything right?”
“If she cooked better, we wouldn’t have to complain,” Mom scoffed. “We’re not asking for gourmet food, just something we can eat.”
I knew arguing with my family was pointless, so I just walked back to the kitchen. Megan stood there with her arms folded across her chest. She had heard me confront them.
“They never complained when you cooked,” she said. “Are they doing this on purpose?”
Her words made me suspicious. Could my family really be criticizing her on purpose?
A few days ago, when it was our turn to host dinner again, I suggested we secretly test them. I told Megan we’d pretend I had prepared dinner, while she would be the person cooking everything.
At first, Megan refused saying she didn’t want to feel humiliated again. But she agreed when I insisted. I was certain this would reveal the truth.
So, Megan made the same dishes again. Red sauce pasta and roasted chicken.
“I cooked everything today,” I said as soon as my family sat down for dinner. “I used your recipe for the chicken, Mom. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
And that’s precisely what happened.
Not only did Mom love the roasted chicken, but Dad, Angela, Dan, and even Aunt Martha couldn’t stop raving about it.
“This is the best pasta I’ve ever tasted!” Angela said, smacking her lips. “I love it, Brandon!”
“I’m glad you took over again!” Dad said.
“Yeah, man,” Dan added, “I never knew my brother could cook this well!”
I looked at Megan and I knew exactly what she was thinking. The food they were raving about was the same food they’d criticized just a few dinners ago. The same dishes, but they thought I had made them.
My younger siblings, David and Gloria, struggled to control their laughter because they knew what was going on. Meanwhile, everyone else had dinner like it was the best meal they’d ever had.
“Okay, I need to confess something,” I said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “But before that, I just need to confirm you all loved the food, right?”
They all nodded.
“Well, I didn’t cook anything,” I revealed. “This was all Megan’s magic. She cooked this for you all just like she’s been doing it for months.”
The room went silent.
I could see Mom’s face had flushed red with embarrassment, while Angela started focusing on her drink. Meanwhile, Dad tried to cover up, “Well… I mean… it’s just that, maybe she’s gotten better at cooking?”
They all tried to backtrack, but the damage was done. Megan and I finally understood what had been going on all this time.
Later that night, Megan and I were in the bedroom when I apologized to her for everything.
“I’m done with these monthly dinners,” I told her. “This was the last one we hosted, and the last one we’ve attended. I won’t be a part of them anymore if all they want to do is humiliate my wife.”
“But that’s part of your family traditions,” Megan said. “I think you should attend the dinners at least.”
“I don’t care about any tradition now,” I rolled my eyes. “They disrespected you, and I can’t stand that.”
We didn’t attend the next family dinners, and after two months, my parents and siblings started asking questions. I told them outright we weren’t coming back.
“You guys ruined everything by humiliating my wife,” I told Mom one day.
“Seriously, Brandon? You can’t do this!” she yelled at me over the phone. “You’re ruining your relationship with us because of her.”
I hung up, knowing that arguing with her was pointless. My family’s constant complaints made sense now. They weren’t happy with Megan, and Gloria later confirmed it.
“Mom and Angela have always been like that,” she revealed. “They always pretended to like Megan because you wanted to marry her, but the truth is that they never approved of her. They believe she’s too different, that she’s not ‘family enough.'”
Gloria’s words confirmed what I had feared all along, that I had made the right choice in standing by Megan. She deserved better than a family that couldn’t appreciate her for who she was.
As we moved forward, I realized that our little family mattered the most and that the love and support we shared were far more important than outdated traditions or hurtful opinions.
I decided that Megan and I would create our own traditions, ones filled with respect and kindness, where every meal felt like home, no matter who cooked it.
Do you think I did the right thing?
