“I only asked for the eggs in the cake… and they called me selfish”: Daughter-in-law decides to buy her own refrigerator and prohibits sharing food

—I just asked what happened to the eggs for the cake… And she called me selfish. —: My daughter-in-law announced that she’s going to buy her own refrigerator and won’t let me touch her food.

There are days when life throws you absurd situations, so painful that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Yesterday was one of those days, and my hands still shake when I remember it. I wanted to make a cake, something sweet to cheer up the family after so long. With such a sunny day and my granddaughter playing in the next room, everything seemed perfect. I had the ingredients ready… or so I thought. But when I opened the fridge, the eggs I had set aside were gone.

I went to ask my daughter-in-law, thinking she might have stashed them somewhere else. But instead of an answer, I got a shout: “Does it hurt to give your granddaughter eggs? This morning I used them to make her an omelet!” My heart leapt. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I replied, “You’re a fool…” I admit, I lost my temper, but how can you not when you’re accused of greed for a pair of eggs you bought yourself?

Then she dropped the bombshell: “I’m going to buy my own refrigerator, and then we’ll each eat only our own food.” Can you imagine? Living under the same roof, in the same apartment, but with separate refrigerators. It wouldn’t be a family anymore, but a shabby boarding house. And all for what? Because a mother, a grandmother, dared to ask where her eggs were.

I’m not a young woman. I live with just enough, without luxuries. This apartment is all I have, earned through hard work and a stroke of luck. My pension barely covers it; I count every euro, I go to the market looking for bargains. They, the young people, say they “don’t have time.” They work from dawn to dusk, I understand. My son works his butt off to support his family. There’s no option to move; the rent is sky-high, and the mortgage is an impossible dream. So we share this two-bedroom apartment: me, my son, my daughter-in-law, and my little granddaughter. I try not to disturb anyone, and I even console myself with the thought that at least I’m not alone.

But living together isn’t just about sharing a kitchen and a bathroom. It’s about respect. It’s about understanding that an older person is someone too, with their needs, their habits, and, my God, their right to bake a damn cake. And here we are, having a fight over two eggs. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened: pans moved, pots gone, a meal I had planned that just disappears. I endure it in silence. But this time, I couldn’t take it anymore. Because it wasn’t about eggs, or refrigerators, or even the cake.

It was about respect. About the pain you feel when you’ve dedicated your life to caring, giving, feeding, raising, and then they call you “selfish.” And yet I was the one who opened the doors of my home to them, who shared everything, who adapted. Now they ask me to eat separately, to live separately. As if I were an intruder.

I know we’re from different eras. They have their ideas, I have mine. But a family isn’t about refrigerators or who ate what. It’s about respect, care, gratitude. I don’t ask for reverence. But having someone spit in your face that you’re a cheapskate… that hurts. It hurts a lot.

Now I think: I’m not going to stick my nose in there again. If the food runs out, let it run out. If there’s nothing left, I’ll make myself a plate of lentils. Do you want to eat together? Let you eat alone. But know one thing: it’s not because I’m resentful or because I’m miserable. It’s because they decided it that way. Because that’s what they wanted. And I… I’ll just remember. And I’ll draw my own conclusions.