My wife Megan always poured her heart into preparing our family’s monthly dinners, yet all she ever received were hurtful remarks from my relatives. After seeing her in tears one too many times, I decided to secretly test their true feelings—and what I found broke my heart.
Our family has a long-standing tradition of monthly dinners, a custom dating back to when my dad was a kid. My grandmother would gather her siblings around home-cooked meals, which helped keep their bond strong. As Dad and his siblings grew up, they carried on this tradition, inviting each other over every month. Growing up, my siblings and I always looked forward to these gatherings, excited to spend time with our cousins.
These dinners weren’t just any meals—Dad went all out decorating the house, and Mom always prepared at least three different dishes. I still remember one evening when Dad ordered pizza for us kids, and it turned into one of the most fun nights ever.
Now that we’re grown, my siblings and I have continued the tradition. A few months ago, my older sister Angela hosted dinner and made an amazing chicken pie. Even Megan loved it. Since hosting duties rotate, I’ve invited my siblings and their families to our home many times. Usually, about 13 or 14 of us show up, including my Aunt Martha.
From the beginning, Megan was excited to be part of this family ritual, even before we got married. Initially, I did the cooking, but she soon took over, saying cooking was therapeutic for her. That’s just Megan—always kind and eager to help.
But everything changed the moment we announced that Megan was the one cooking. My sister Angela immediately complained the food was bland, and my brother Dan added that the chicken was too dry. My mom chimed in with criticism about the seasoning. Seeing Megan’s face fall broke my heart. After all her effort, they dismissed it so casually.
That night, I found Megan crying in our bedroom. She was devastated by their words and told me she didn’t want to cook for them anymore. I comforted her, praising her cooking, but the damage was done. Still, I convinced her to try once more, hoping things would be different.
Megan prepared dishes she knew my family liked—roasted chicken for my mom, pasta for Angela—but again, their harsh critiques cut deep, even though the food was delicious. I couldn’t understand why they were being so cruel.
Then, I overheard my parents making snide remarks about Megan, and it hit me—there was something deeper going on. That’s when I decided to test them. At the next dinner, we pretended I had cooked everything, even though Megan had prepared the same dishes they had criticized before.
To my shock, they praised the food enthusiastically, complimenting me on how delicious everything was. Angela declared it the best pasta she’d ever eaten, and Mom couldn’t stop raving about the perfectly roasted chicken. That was when I knew—the criticism wasn’t about the food; it was about Megan.
When I finally told them the truth—that Megan had cooked the meal—the room went silent. They tried to backtrack, but the damage was done. Megan and I had uncovered the truth: they would never truly accept her, no matter how hard she tried.
That night, I made a decision. We were done with the monthly dinners. I couldn’t keep putting Megan through their disrespect. Family traditions mean nothing if they come at the cost of the person I love most. Even though my family tried to convince me otherwise, I stood firmly by Megan. She deserved better, and I knew it was time to put our love and support at home above outdated customs.
Do you think I made the right call?