All I wanted was a $5 salad. What I got instead was humiliation, a plate of fries, and a quiet moment that changed everything. That was the day I began learning what it means to stop apologizing for needing care—and why some women will never let another one go unseen.
Briggs liked to call himself a provider. But when I asked for a $5 salad, he laughed at me like I was begging for gold.
I’m 26, pregnant with twins.
When the test turned positive, I thought people would ease up. I thought he’d be better. Instead, I learned how invisible a pregnant woman can feel in her own home.
He loved saying he was “taking care of us.” That was his line when he asked me to move in, like it was a gift, a promise, something sacred. But it wasn’t about care, like I’d hoped. It was about control.
“What’s mine is ours, Rae,” he’d say. “But don’t forget who earns it.”
At first, I told myself I was just tired. Then his comments started sounding like rules.
“You’ve been asleep all day, Rae. Seriously?” “You’re hungry… again?!” “You wanted kids—this is part of it all.”
It wasn’t just the words. It was his smirk, the way he said them when someone else was listening. He wanted witnesses.
By ten weeks, my body was done. I was battling the changes happening inside me, but Briggs still dragged me to meetings and warehouse drop-offs like I was luggage.
“You coming?” he called once, while I struggled to get out of the car. “I can’t have people thinking I don’t have my life together.”
“You think they care what I look like, Briggs?” I asked, breathless, my ankles swollen, pain rising up my spine.
“They care that I’m a man who handles his business and his home,” he said. “You’re part of the picture. They’re going to eat it up.”
I followed him inside anyway, my ankles throbbing with every step. He handed me a box without looking.
“Come on, if you’re going to be here, you need to work.”
I didn’t have the energy to fight.
That day, we hit four stops in five hours. I was running on fumes, but I stayed quiet—until we got back to the car.
“I need to eat, babe,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Please. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“You’re always eating,” he muttered. “Isn’t that what you did last night? Cleaned out the pantry? That’s the cycle, isn’t it? I work my butt off to stock up the pantry, and you eat it all away in a night.”
“I’m carrying two babies,” I said. “And I haven’t had anything since dinner.”
“You ate a banana,” Briggs rolled his eyes. “Stop acting like a drama queen. You’re pregnant. That doesn’t make you special.”
I looked out the window, blinking hard, my hands shaking.
“Can we just stop somewhere?” I asked again. “I feel dizzy.”
He sighed, like I’d asked for something extravagant. Eventually, he pulled into a roadside diner—the kind with foggy windows, laminated menus, and sticky booths.
I didn’t care. My legs ached, my stomach turned, and I just needed to sit down.
Sliding into a booth, I closed my eyes and pictured what I wanted most: Mia and Maya, asleep in matching onesies, their tiny bellies rising and falling. Their names whispered to me lately—soft, like freedom.
A waitress came over. Her name tag read Dottie. Before I could say anything, Briggs grunted, “Something cheap, Rae.”
I ignored him, opened the menu, and chose a Cobb salad. Just $5. Surely he wouldn’t object.
“I’ll have the Cobb salad, please, Dottie,” I said quietly.
“A salad?” Briggs barked a laugh. “It must be nice, huh, Rae? Spending money you didn’t earn.”
I stared at the table, cheeks flushing.
“It’s just $5,” I said, trying to stay calm for the babies. “I need to eat. The babies need me to eat for them.”
“Five dollars adds up,” he muttered. “Especially when you’re not the one working.”
A nearby table went quiet. A gray-haired couple looked over.
“You want some crackers while you wait, sweetheart?” Dottie asked kindly.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
“No, honey. You’re shaking. That happens when blood sugar’s low. You need to eat.”
She left before I could argue. I pressed my hand to my belly, wishing I could shield my babies from their father’s taunts.
When she came back, she set down iced tea and crackers. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Is everyone in this town trying to be a hero today?” Briggs sneered.
Dottie raised her eyebrows. “I’m not trying to be anything. I’m just being a woman reaching out to someone who’s struggling.”
When the salad arrived, it had grilled chicken on top. I hadn’t asked for it.
“That part’s on me,” Dottie said gently. “Don’t argue, missy. I’ve… been you.”
I wanted to cry, but instead I ate slowly, gratefully. Briggs barely touched his burger. When I finished, he threw money on the table and stormed out.
“Charity is embarrassing,” he snapped in the car.
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“No, you just sat there and let people pity you, Rae. Do you know how that makes me feel? How that makes me look? You embarrassed me again.”
“I let someone be kind, Briggs. And that’s more than I can say for you.”
Neither of us spoke again.
That night, he came home late, armor cracked. He slumped at the table, head low.
“Long day?” I asked gently. “Can I make you something for dinner?”
“Don’t start, Rae.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m just asking.”
“Nothing. People are just… annoying. Dramatic.”
He rubbed his jaw. “That diner lady knows somebody. She must’ve said something. My boss called me in. The client requested I don’t come to meetings anymore. They took my company card.”
My heart didn’t race. My stomach didn’t drop. Just a small exhale.
“Can you believe that?” he half-laughed. “Over nothing!”
“Nothing? Really?” I tilted my head.
“She gave you free food. I said one comment and she was after my head. People are too sensitive these days.”
“Or maybe people are finally watching,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe someone finally saw the version of you that I live with.”
He walked upstairs without another word. I curled on the couch, hand on my belly.
“Mia and Maya,” I whispered. “You’ll never have to earn kindness. Not from me. Not from anyone.”
It was the first warmth I’d felt in a long time.
In the days that followed, Briggs avoided me. He paced, cursed emails, muttered about “ungrateful people.” He never mentioned Dottie again. But I remembered everything.
I thought of her often—because she saw me before I remembered how to see myself.
I started emailing old friends, searching for prenatal clinics with good reviews, taking walks even when I was tired.
“It’s all for you, babies,” I said to my stomach.
One morning, after Briggs slammed the door, I grabbed my keys. I drove until I saw it—the same diner with the red door.
Dottie’s face lit up. “You came back. Sit down, sweetheart. I’m taking my break.”
She brought hot chocolate, fries, and pecan pie.
“These are all the things I’ve been craving,” I smiled.
“Honey, I know. Cravings are universal.”
“I keep thinking… maybe he’ll change,” I admitted.
“You can’t build a life on maybe,” Dottie said softly. “Not with a baby on the way.”
“Babies,” I corrected. “Twins. Girls.”
She reached across the table. My eyes stung.
“You want your girls to know what love looks like? Show them by how you let yourself be treated.”
Her words soaked into me.
“You don’t need a perfect man,” she said. “You need peace. Softness. A home that feels safe. Until you find that, it’s better to walk alone.”
I nodded. A promise to myself I hadn’t made in years.
When I stood to leave, Dottie pressed a paper bag into my hand. “Refill on the fries. And my number’s inside. Call me anytime, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Dottie.”
“For what?”
“For seeing me.”
She smiled with more warmth than I’d felt in years.
Outside, I booked a prenatal appointment. Then I texted Briggs:
“You will not shame me for eating again. Ever. I’m moving back home to my sister. I can’t focus on my health and pregnancy if you’re around.”
My hand went to my belly.
“Mia. Maya,” I whispered. “We’re done shrinking.”