When my stepson Alex moved in, I braced myself for adjustments—teens after a divorce aren’t easy. I loved my wife Sarah, and supporting Alex felt like what a partner should do.
At first it was simple: I’d make breakfast for myself—just eggs and toast. But Alex started treating me like his personal chef, criticizing every meal. So I catered to his whims: pancakes, waffles, cereal—whatever kept the peace.
But patience ran out. One morning, I prepared a hearty breakfast—scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns. I set it in front of him. He glared and said, “I don’t want this.” I finally snapped.
“That’s it—I’m not running a diner. Eat what I make, or don’t eat at all.”
That evening, I walked into chaos: cereal boxes spilled, pancake mix everywhere. And there was Sarah—with that look. “So now you shouldn’t mind cooking what he wants, right?” Apparently, Alex had complained I “let him starve.” I was stunned. How had it gone this far?
I tried to stay calm but blurted, “I’m not a chef for hire. If you want him catered to, maybe you should step up.” I stormed out, leaving them speechless.
Sometimes, standing firm on respect is tougher than cooking an extra meal—but it’s essential.
