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 seeing her in tears one too many times, I decided to set up a secret test to expose the real reason behind their relentless criticism. What I found out left me heartbroken.
Our family had a long-standing tradition of hosting monthly dinners, something that had been passed down for generations. It all started with my grandmother, who used to bring her siblings together over meals. Those dinners strengthened their bond, turning them into a ritual that my father and his siblings carried on.
When my siblings and I were kids, these dinners were the highlight of our month. The excitement of seeing our cousins, running around the house, and eating delicious food made those nights special. My dad took pride in setting up decorations, while my mom made sure the table was filled with at least three different dishes. One time, Dad even ordered pizza just for us kids, and that night turned into one of our best memories.
Now that we had grown up, we continued this tradition. A few months ago, my older sister, Angela, hosted one of the dinners and made the most incredible chicken pie I had ever eaten. Even Megan loved it, and she wasn’t easily impressed when it came to food.
Since we all took turns hosting, I invited my family over several times as well. I had two older siblings, Dan and Angela, and two younger ones, David and Gloria. Along with their spouses, kids, and sometimes even my Aunt Martha, our dinners usually had around 13-14 people.
Megan was excited to be a part of this tradition from the beginning, even before we got married. At first, I did most of the cooking, but eventually, she took over.
“You know I find cooking to be very therapeutic, babe,” she reassured me with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”
That’s just how Megan was—kind, thoughtful, always eager to contribute.
I thought everything was going well until the night we hosted dinner and everyone found out Megan had cooked the food.
“I knew it!” Angela blurted out, pushing her plate away. “I was wondering why the food tasted so off today. It’s just… so bland!”
“I agree,” Dan muttered, poking at his chicken. “Why is this so dry?”
“Maybe use less seasoning next time,” Mom added casually, barely touching her plate.
I’ll never forget the look on Megan’s face. She had spent hours cooking, only to be met with cruel, dismissive comments.
“I think the chicken is perfect!” I quickly spoke up, hoping to ease the tension. “What do you think, David?”
“Yeah, it’s really nice,” David said with an encouraging smile. “It’s perfect!”
“Shouldn’t you cook what everyone likes?” Aunt Martha chimed in. “That way, no one will complain next time.”
Megan swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she forced a smile. “Yeah… I’ll cook something else next time.”
I was furious. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her cooking. In fact, it was better than what I had made last time! Later that night, I found her crying in our bedroom.
“Babe, they shouldn’t have treated you like that,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “Your cooking was amazing. Even David loved it.”
“Only David said that,” she whispered through her tears. “Everyone else hated it. I won’t cook for them again.”
“Hey, don’t let them get you down,” I said, holding her face gently. “You’re strong, remember?”
That night, I convinced Megan to give it another try at the next family dinner. But I had no idea it would only lead to more heartbreak.
Megan worked extra hard. She made my mom’s favorite roasted chicken with a side of veggies and red sauce pasta, which Angela loved. She even watched YouTube videos to perfect her recipe.
But when dinner was served, their reactions crushed her again.
“I don’t think you should ever make this pasta again, Meg,” Angela sighed, shaking her head. “It tastes awful.”
“I’ll send you my recipe tonight,” Mom added, discreetly spitting out a piece of chicken into her napkin. “This isn’t what I’d call roasted chicken.”
Megan didn’t say a word. She simply got up and walked into the kitchen, and I followed. Her back was to me, shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back her tears.
“Babe, I loved the food,” I told her, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I don’t get why they’re acting this way.”
“Your sister said the pasta was bad!” she whispered. “I made her favorite dish, and she still hated it. What am I supposed to do?”
Then, I overheard something that made my blood boil.
“She’s not even trying,” Mom muttered.
“Didn’t she learn from last time?” Dad scoffed.
That was it. I stormed back to the dinner table.
“Can’t you guys be nice to her?” I snapped. “She works so hard to cook for you all, and all you do is tear her down!”
“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 said with a smirk.
I clenched my fists. Was this really about the food? Megan’s words echoed in my mind: “Are they doing this on purpose?”
That’s when I decided to set up a test.
For our next dinner, I told Megan to cook everything as usual, but we would tell my family that I had done all the cooking. At first, she refused, but after I insisted, she agreed.
When everyone sat down, I proudly announced, “I cooked everything today. Mom, I used your recipe for the chicken—I think you’ll love it.”
And just like that, everything changed.
“This is the best pasta I’ve ever tasted!” Angela raved. “I love it, Brandon!”
“I’m glad you took over again,” Dad said, nodding in approval.
“Yeah, man, I never knew my brother could cook this well!” Dan added.
I glanced at Megan. Her expression said it all. This was the exact same food they had criticized before. But now that they thought I had made it, suddenly it was delicious.
David and Gloria struggled to hold back their laughter. Meanwhile, the rest of the family continued enjoying the meal, completely unaware of what we had just exposed.
I cleared my throat. “So, just to confirm—you all love the food, right?”
They nodded eagerly.
“Well,” I said, crossing my arms. “Megan made this. Just like she’s been doing all along.”
Silence.
Mom’s face turned red. Angela quickly grabbed her drink. Dad stammered, “Well… maybe she’s just gotten better at cooking?”
They tried to backtrack, but the damage was done. Megan and I finally understood the truth.
That night, I held Megan close and made a decision. “We’re done with these monthly dinners.”
“But it’s your family tradition,” she said softly.
“I don’t care,” I said firmly. “They disrespected you, and I won’t stand for that.”
Two months passed, and my family started questioning our absence. When Mom called, demanding an explanation, I told her the truth.
“You ruined everything by humiliating my wife,” I said.
“You’re ruining your relationship with us because of her!” she yelled.
I hung up.
Later, Gloria confirmed what I already knew. “They never accepted Megan. They always thought she wasn’t ‘family enough.’”
That was all I needed to hear. I knew I had made the right choice. From now on, Megan and I would create our own traditions—ones built on love, respect, and kindness.
