At Kitchen, My Hubby Aggressively Kicked my Leg, Causing me to Fall to the Ground. He Yelled, Slave!

The Confrontation and the Family Intervention

When Anthony finally returned home with Amy and Susan, he found me seated weakly in the kitchen surrounded by my meager attempts at meal preparation. He surveyed the scene with a mix of confusion and disappointment.

“No welcome for mom? Is dinner even ready? Nothing is properly set up,” he remarked, his tone laced with disapproval.

I had only managed to bake some bread and assemble a modest salad, and his words felt like a sharp rebuke. Anxiety gripped me at the thought of another harsh scolding.

“I’m sorry Anthony, this is all I could manage today. Could you please order something for the main course? I’m truly sorry,” I managed to say, my voice faltering under the strain.

This only seemed to ignite his anger further.

“Are you joking? You call this sickness an act? We were all looking forward to a nice dinner, mom was excited, and you’re letting us down again, just like last year,” he exploded in anger.

“You can’t even manage your health properly. It’s embarrassing how you drag everyone down with you,” he continued, his words cutting deep without any attempt to understand.

“Why didn’t you pick up when I called? I even texted you to suggest we eat out, and then another text about ordering delivery! Why insist on hosting at home if you can’t handle it!” I snapped back, unable to contain my frustration any longer.

Each word I spoke reverberated like a blow to my head. My vision was so blurred that Anthony’s face was just a haze.

My ears rang with my heartbeat, drowning out everything else in our heated exchange. The physical toll became apparent.

I was drenched in sweat, a direct result of the oppressive heat combined with the resurgence of my symptoms, which the medication had only subdued. I regretted raising my voice, but I felt compelled to explain my condition to Anthony once I could see again.

When my vision finally sharpened, I found Anthony staring at me in shocked silence, his mouth agape. Then, as our eyes met, his expression morphed into one of fury, his face turning bright red as he pointed at me accusingly.

“What’s with that attitude, pretending to be sick, neglecting the housework, and then snapping when called out on it? You’re the worst! I’m sick of supporting a wife who fails at her responsibilities! If you can’t handle the housework, maybe we should just get a divorce,” his words echoed threateningly through the house, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

Despite my desperate pleas, Anthony seemed resolute, bringing up divorce without a second thought. The gravity of his words nearly brought me to tears; a separation felt unavoidable.

Just as I was about to reluctantly agree, I heard light footsteps approaching. Anthony, consumed by his rage, didn’t notice them.

He continued, his voice dripping with disdain, “Menopause, tiredness, and shoulder pains? Aren’t those normal for our age? Dizziness and headaches can’t be that bad even with medication. You just want to lie in bed all day, don’t you?”.

Before I could respond, someone tapped Anthony on the shoulder. It was Susan, my sister-in-law, displaying a level of anger I had never seen in her before.

As Anthony turned, Susan raised her hand and delivered a forceful slap across his cheek. The impact sent Anthony staggering to the floor, his face a picture of disbelief as he looked up at Susan, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

“What the heck are you doing, Anthony?” he asked, rubbing his cheek, still in shock.

Susan fixed him with a sharp gaze. “And what about you? What’s with your attitude? Have you been treating Carol like this for years? Deciding the severity of someone’s illness without any medical expertise, verbally abusing your wife? You should be ashamed!”.

Anthony, who typically tried to maintain a composed facade in front of the family, was visibly shaken. His behavior shifted drastically in Susan’s presence.

Normally dismissive and barely considerate when we were alone, he suddenly became attentive to my needs whenever Susan or other family members visited, even going so far as to make coffee himself. I had confided in Amy and Susan about my health struggles, but I had never spoken to them about how Anthony treated me behind closed doors.

They were caring people, but discussing Anthony’s harsh behavior felt risky. They might harbor ill will towards me for speaking ill of their relative, even if they believed and sympathized with me.

I hesitated to voice my concerns, fearing how Anthony might react if he knew I had shared our private conflicts. Seeing Susan’s reaction today made me question my previous reluctance to speak out.

“What’s going on? Today is supposed to be Mom’s birthday party! I wanted to make it enjoyable, but Anthony ruined the dinner by not preparing anything,” Anthony said, pointing his finger at me as he stood up, eager to deflect blame.

Amy, who had followed Susan into the living room, fixed Anthony with a stern gaze.

“Are you saying Carol ruined the dinner party? That’s just your opinion, right? From what I’ve heard, Carol was doing her best to prepare despite her pain. She contacted you because it didn’t seem like she could finish in time, suggesting a change of venue or ordering delivery instead. I don’t appreciate being celebrated by someone unwell. I’m certainly not happy being celebrated by a son who just complains after dumping everything on his sick wife,” Amy scolded him firmly.

Then Susan chimed in, “Did you come to our house leaving Carol alone while she was feeling ill?”.

“Well, there’s nothing I could do,” Anthony replied defensively.

“There are many things you could have done, like helping with chores or being considerate about her health. I remember telling you this when Carol first started feeling unwell. You just found it bothersome, didn’t you?” Susan’s words left Anthony speechless.

Anthony, flustered, blurted out, “Why are Sis and Mom siding with her? Menopause isn’t even a real illness! Getting tired easily, palpitations—that happens to everyone as they age! Women just want to be lazy so they can name it a disorder and pretend to be sick!”.

Susan sighed deeply before explaining. “Anthony, you might not know, but I too suffered from severe menopause symptoms. It only recently settled down, but it was so bad I quit my job nine years ago. Are you saying a disease that made me quit my job isn’t a real illness?”.

Hearing this, Anthony stood frozen in shock. I had known that Susan had experienced menopausal issues around the same age as me and that she had to resign from her job following a temporary leave.

She didn’t want to quit, but with no sign of recovery in sight, she had chosen to prioritize her health after consulting with her family. I remembered that Susan had stepped back from her job when she was around 50, but I hadn’t known the specific reasons until she shared them herself.

During that difficult time, we mostly communicated via text as she was too unwell to meet. It was a challenging period for her, and I thought about how she once confided that it felt like it would never get better.

Jason, Susan’s husband, who is four years her junior and works regular hours including night shifts, was always supportive of her health decisions. Although he couldn’t make it to the dinner, Susan turned to Anthony with a stern yet caring demeanor.

“Carol is not your servant. As a husband, shouldn’t you have more compassion?”.

Caught off guard and visibly chastened, Anthony muttered a weak apology. “Sorry Sis, I knew you were unwell, but,” his voice trailed off, finally understanding the gravity of his actions and the pain they had caused.

Anthony’s reply sounded like an excuse, but Susan’s stern expression didn’t waver.

“Right now it’s not about me. Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Carol?” she pressed firmly.

Facing pressure from Susan, whom he deeply respects and seldom contradicts, Anthony reluctantly turned towards me. After a moment, he seemed to relent.

“I’m sorry. Sis scolded me, and it opened my eyes. From now on, I’ll help you Carol, and we’ll get along,” he said, looking earnestly into my eyes.

It felt like he might have finally understood. Just as I was considering forgiving Anthony, a voice cut through the moment.

“Hold on a minute,” said Amy, looking exhausted as she walked over, supported by Susan, and sat beside me on the sofa.

She fixed me with a serious gaze. “Carol, you can’t believe Anthony’s words. You should divorce him, and quickly,” she advised.

“What do you mean?” I asked, taken aback by her directness.

Amy then shared a bit of her past that mirrored my struggles. “I suffered from similar symptoms around your age. There wasn’t a like menopausal disorder back then, but from what you’ve told me, I think I probably had it too. I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?”.

I nodded, recalling our conversations. “When I was about your age,” Amy continued, “the term menopausal disorder wasn’t widely recognized. There were no medications, and it was hard to find understanding from others”.

She chuckled sadly. Then pointed at Anthony. “He used to hurl terrible abuses at me when I was suffering. It was around the time before he married you; he was living at his parents’ house and would say things like, ‘Make dinner faster,’ ‘How long will you lie in bed, Mother?’ ‘Stop pretending to be sick'”.

“Such heartless words,” she recounted, her face shadowed by the painful memories.

“Anthony, is that true?” I asked, hoping for some sign of denial.

But Anthony awkwardly turned away, his silence confirming Amy’s account. Amy looked down sorrowfully, continuing.

“My late husband got so angry at Anthony’s behavior back then that he hit him. When Dad scolded him severely, Anthony said the same things he’s saying now,” she sighed deeply.

“He ‘woke up,’ indeed. After that, Anthony stopped saying anything to me because he quickly married you and left home. But Carol, you’ve been mistreated by him, haven’t you? In other words, Anthony hasn’t changed at all since then. He still doesn’t try to understand others’ illnesses, even after decades,” Susan interjected, emphasizing that Anthony’s current words were just excuses for the moment.

“Wait a minute! I mean, I won’t do it again, believe me!” Anthony tried to interject, but Susan grabbed his arm to stop him.

“I saw it all back then. That’s why I hit you, just like Dad did. Remember how you cried and apologized to me after Dad scolded you? You said you wouldn’t do it again, that you had ‘woken up’ and realized your mistake,” she recounted, reminding him of his past promises.

Susan’s stern reprimand left Anthony biting his lip in evident frustration. As he fell silent under her gaze, Amy seized the moment to address me directly.

Gripping my shoulders firmly, she spoke with urgency. “That’s why you need to divorce Anthony and escape this situation quickly. Otherwise, you’ll continue to suffer. Now is your chance, with me and Susan here to support you. Alone with him, he’ll never admit his faults and might even resent you for embarrassing him in front of his parents”.

Her eyes were resolute, filled with a sad determination. Hearing such decisive words from a mother was heartbreaking, and the thought of divorce at this stage in life was daunting.

Yet Amy’s recount of enduring similar mistreatment at Anthony’s hands resonated deeply. I had clung to a hope that once my symptoms eased, life with Anthony could return to the happy days of our past.

But the reality Amy painted was stark; likely things would only deteriorate further. Anger and resolve welled up within me as I considered the years of verbal abuse Anthony had directed, not just at me, but at Amy too.

Despite the dizziness that clouded my senses, I stood up and faced Anthony, ready to declare my intention to divorce. Shaking off Susan’s restraining hand, he erupted.

“What the hell are you all doing, treating me like the bad guy?”.

The room fell silent, the cold stares of his relatives meeting his gaze. Overcome with rage, Anthony finally blurted out, “Fine, I get it. If that’s what you want, I’ll give you a divorce”.

His concession came angrily, and the dinner party was abruptly cancelled. Amy and the others left, and Anthony, unable to face the situation, stayed at a hotel.

The divorce proceeded without contention over property division and was finalized swiftly. After separating, I focused on healing alone, finding solace in the peace that followed our split.