That night, Doris sat in the quiet kitchen, the scent of her latest meal still lingering in the air. She asked her husband to understand — not about the missing food, but about the missing respect. About how lonely it felt to give so much and be seen so little. But instead of empathy, she was met with indifference.
Days passed in silence, and with each one, Doris felt something inside her shift. The woman who had once fed everyone’s happiness realized she had been starving her own. She wasn’t angry anymore — just tired.
So, with quiet resolve, she packed her things and left. She moved into a small apartment where the kitchen was still hers — but this time, every meal she made was for joy, not obligation.
Her children eventually came to understand. They saw that her decision wasn’t about food; it was about self-worth. Doris had spent a lifetime nourishing others — now, she was learning to nourish herself.
And as she stirred a pot of soup one evening, alone but at peace, she smiled softly. The fridge was full again — not just of food, but of love she finally gave herself.
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