“Claire, please don’t get upset. I’ll have a serious talk with him. How about I run to the store and buy something quick?”
She looked at her husband. She felt genuinely sorry for him. Daniel had been caught between his own household and his sense of duty toward his brother.
But kindness paid for by someone else was not really kindness.
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want sausages. And I’m not cooking tonight either. I’ll order something for you and me. Do you want dinner?”
“I do,” Daniel answered with a resigned nod.
As soon as the delivery arrived, Mark appeared in the kitchen. He followed the smell with obvious interest, breathing it in as though he had just discovered a feast.
“Oh, look at this!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “Having a banquet? I was wondering why the kitchen was so quiet. Decided to bring the restaurant home? Good for you. Everyone deserves a break sometimes. What did you order?”
Claire calmly removed two containers from the bag and placed two forks beside them.
“This is for Daniel and me,” she said.
Mark stopped in the doorway. The smile vanished from his face.
“What do you mean? What about me?”
“There’s nothing for you, Mark,” Claire replied evenly, without even looking at him. “You already had lunch. You ate twenty meat patties. I assume you won’t starve before tomorrow.”
“Are you serious?” Mark turned indignantly toward his brother. “Daniel, are you hearing this? Your wife is holding food over my head? We’re family!”
Daniel had already begun eating and looked deeply uncomfortable.
“Mark, come on. You ate everything Claire cooked. We both came home from work hungry. These meals were ordered as individual portions, for two people.”
“You could have ordered three portions,” Mark snapped. “You wouldn’t have gone broke. You’ve both become unbelievably stingy. You begrudge food to your own family member. I’ll go make tea, at least. Unless you’ve locked up the tea too.”
He marched away and slammed the door to his room.
“Maybe you were a little too harsh,” Daniel said quietly. “He’s offended.”
“Let him be offended,” Claire answered. “Daniel, I’ve made up my mind. I am not cooking for three anymore. From now on, I’m preparing food only for us. Or we can stop cooking at home altogether. I did not agree to become your brother’s unpaid housekeeper.”
“Claire, how is that supposed to work? We all live in the same apartment. Are we going to hide the pots?”
“Why would we hide them? I simply won’t fill them with food for him anymore. If he wants to eat, there’s a grocery store around the corner. He can buy his own food and cook it himself. His hands work perfectly well.”
The following morning Claire made breakfast: exactly two sandwiches and two cups of coffee.
By the time Mark finally wandered into the kitchen, nothing remained on the table.
“Where’s breakfast?” he asked, peering into the nearly empty refrigerator. “There were eggs in there yesterday.”
“There were,” Claire said calmly. “Two eggs. I boiled them for Daniel and myself.”
“Are you starting this again?” Mark asked irritably. “Am I supposed to go hungry now?”
“Mark,” Claire said while gathering her things for work, “the store is right around the corner. They sell eggs, bread, butter—everything you need. The stove works. Enjoy your breakfast.”
“I don’t have any money,” he grumbled. “I’m looking for a job, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“That’s your problem,” Claire replied sharply. “You’re a grown man. You live here without paying rent, utilities, electricity, or internet. I am not required to feed you on top of everything else.”
A week passed.
The atmosphere in the apartment felt like the stillness before a violent storm. Claire did not back down. She cooked exactly two portions. Whenever there were leftovers, she placed them in separate containers labeled “Daniel’s lunch” and “Claire’s lunch.”
Mark grew furious.
He tried to make everyone feel sorry for him and complained constantly to his brother. But Daniel could see how exhausted his wife was. Whenever Mark began another round of accusations, Daniel merely spread his hands.
“Claire is right. Get a job already, Mark. Any job.”
One evening Claire returned home and found the kitchen in complete chaos.
A mountain of dirty dishes filled the sink. Grease covered the stove. Flour had been scattered across the table and floor. In the middle of the table sat a frying pan containing something thoroughly burned.
“What happened here?” Claire asked.
Mark appeared from the bedroom, chewing on a piece of bread.
“I decided to cook for myself since you’ve gone on strike. I found flour and eggs and tried to fry something. But it burned. Your frying pan is terrible. Everything sticks to it.”
Claire stepped closer.
Her new frying pan, the one with the high-quality coating, was ruined beyond repair. Deep scratches ran across the surface. Mark had clearly attacked it with a metal fork.
“You damaged the pan,” she said quietly. “You used the last of the food and turned the kitchen into a pigsty. Who is going to clean all this?”