Megan had always poured her heart into our family’s monthly dinners, eager to be part of a tradition that meant so much to me. But no matter how hard she tried, my family never appreciated her efforts. Instead, they tore her down with cruel comments. After seeing her in tears one too many times, I decided to find out the truth. What I discovered left me heartbroken.
The Family Tradition
These family dinners weren’t just gatherings; they were a legacy. My grandmother started them decades ago, bringing her siblings together to strengthen their bond over food. My dad and his siblings carried it forward, and now, my generation was continuing the custom.
I still remember the excitement I felt as a kid. We’d wait eagerly to meet our cousins, run around the house, and share stories while the adults laughed over wine and homemade dishes. Dad always decorated the place beautifully, and Mom made sure the table was filled with at least three different dishes. Sometimes, Dad even ordered pizza just for us kids, and those were some of my happiest memories.
Now that my siblings and I were grown, we had taken over the tradition. A few months ago, my older sister, Angela, had hosted dinner at her place and made a delicious chicken pie. Even Megan loved it.
Since we rotated hosting duties, I had invited my siblings and their families multiple times. Our dinners usually included my two older siblings, Dan and Angela, my two younger siblings, David and Gloria, along with their spouses and kids. Sometimes, our beloved Aunt Martha joined us too. In total, it was about 13-14 people on an average night.
Megan was thrilled to be part of the tradition. She had been excited even before we were married.
“You know I find cooking to be very therapeutic, babe,” she had reassured me one night. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”
That was just who Megan was—kind, generous, and always willing to help.
The First Blow
The first time we revealed that Megan had cooked, I expected everyone to be appreciative. But the reactions stunned me.
“I knew it!” Angela exclaimed. “I was wondering why the food tastes so off today. It’s just… so bland!”
“I agree,” Dan muttered. “The chicken is way too dry.”
“Maybe use less seasoning next time,” Mom added dismissively.
I saw the hurt flash across Megan’s face, the way her shoulders tensed as if she had been slapped. I felt rage boil inside me.
“I think the chicken is perfect!” I said, trying to lift her spirits. “David, what do you think?”
David, my youngest brother, gave a reassuring smile. “Yeah, it’s really nice. It’s perfect!”
“Shouldn’t you cook what everyone likes?” Aunt Martha suggested gently. “That way, no one will complain next time.”
Megan nodded slowly, her voice trembling. “Yeah, I… I’ll cook something else next time.”
That night, I found Megan crying in our bedroom.
“Babe, they shouldn’t have treated you like that,” I said, holding her close. “Your cooking was amazing. I promise. Even David loved it.”
“Only David said that,” she whispered. “Everyone else hated it. I won’t cook for them again.”
I hated seeing her like this. “Don’t let them get to you. You’re strong, remember?”
Eventually, I convinced her to cook again for the next dinner. But that turned out to be a mistake.
The Second Betrayal
Megan put even more effort into the next dinner. She made Mom’s favorite roasted chicken and Angela’s beloved red sauce pasta. She even watched YouTube tutorials to perfect the recipes, hoping this time my family would enjoy her cooking.
But when dinner was served, the reactions were even worse.
“I don’t think you should ever make this pasta again, Meg,” Angela said, shaking her head. “It tastes awful.”
“I’ll send you my recipe tonight,” Mom added, spitting out a piece of chicken discreetly. “This isn’t what I’d call roasted chicken.”
Megan went silent, her lips pressed tightly together. She walked into the kitchen without a word, and I followed. As soon as I stepped in, I saw the tears in her eyes.
“Babe, I loved the food,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I don’t get why Mom and Angela are acting like this.”
“I made their favorite dishes, and they still don’t like them,” Megan whispered, her voice breaking. “What am I supposed to do?”
That’s when I overheard something that made my blood boil.
“She’s not even trying,” Mom muttered.
“Didn’t she learn from last time?” Dad added in an irritated tone.
I stormed back to the dining table. “Why can’t you guys be nice to her?” I snapped. “What’s with all this drama? She works so hard to cook for you!”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Then why can’t she ever get anything right?”
“If she cooked better, we wouldn’t have to complain,” Mom scoffed.
I clenched my fists. Was this really about the food, or was there something deeper going on?
The Truth Revealed
Determined to uncover the truth, I set up a test. For our next hosting, Megan cooked the exact same dishes, but this time, I lied and said I had made them.
The difference in reactions was immediate.
“This is the best pasta I’ve ever tasted!” Angela gushed. “I love it, Brandon!”
“I’m glad you took over again!” Dad beamed.
“Yeah, man,” Dan agreed. “I never knew my brother could cook this well!”
David and Gloria struggled to hide their laughter, knowing the truth. Meanwhile, the rest of my family raved about Megan’s cooking—without realizing she had made it.
I cleared my throat. “I just need to confirm… you all loved the food, right?”
They nodded enthusiastically.
“Well, I didn’t cook anything,” I revealed. “Megan did. The same way she’s been cooking for months.”
Silence fell over the table. Mom’s face turned red, Angela suddenly found her drink fascinating, and Dad tried to backtrack. “Well… maybe she’s just gotten better at cooking?”
The damage was done. The truth was out. They had never judged Megan’s food—they had judged Megan herself.
Breaking Away
That night, I made a decision. “I’m done with these dinners. We won’t host them anymore, and I won’t attend either.”
“But it’s your family tradition,” Megan said softly. “You should still go.”
“I don’t care about tradition if it means disrespecting you,” I said firmly. “You are my family now.”
After two months of skipping dinners, my family started asking questions. When Mom confronted me, I told her the truth.
“You guys ruined everything by humiliating my wife,” I said.
“Seriously, Brandon? You’re ruining your relationship with us because of her?” Mom shouted.
I hung up, knowing nothing I said would change her mind.
Later, Gloria confessed, “Mom and Angela never liked Megan. They pretended because you wanted to marry her, but they don’t see her as ‘family enough.’”
And that was all the confirmation I needed. Megan and I would build our own traditions—ones filled with love, respect, and real family values. Because in the end, love is what makes a family, not outdated customs.
