A Week After We Moved in Together, He Handed Me a ‘House Uniform’—He Wasn’t Ready for What Came Next

Derek’s smile froze on his face. Richard shifted uncomfortably. Anita’s eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline.

“Is that so?” Richard asked, looking between us.

“Julia has a unique sense of humor,” Derek said weakly.

The dinner crawled by, Derek growing more uncomfortable with each passing minute. I served the meal with mechanical precision and only spoke when spoken to.

After the guests left, Derek exploded.

“What was that?” he demanded, loosening his tie with angry tugs. “You’re making me look like some kind of sexist pig!”

I replied with mock innocence: “Me? I’m just living the dream you picked out for me. Tradition, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant by tradition!” His voice cracked.

“Then what did you mean?” I asked calmly, my smile holding steady. “Because from where I stand, a ‘house uniform’ sends a pretty clear message about your expectations.”

“I just thought… my mom always—” he sputtered.

“Your mom chose that for herself,” I pointed out. “Or, at least, I hope she did. But you chose it for me.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Fine. I get it. The uniform was too much.”

“The uniform was a symptom,” I corrected him. “I agreed to try things your way when we married, Derek, but I never signed up to be your servant. If that’s what you want, then you should’ve stayed single and hired a housekeeper.”

I hung the apron on a hook in the kitchen.

“I’m never wearing that thing again,” I declared. “And you need to think long and hard about whether you married me because you love me, or because you wanted a replacement Mommy.”