My mother-in-law always claimed she cooked best when no one was watching. One afternoon, after she’d proudly finished her famous stew, I stepped into the kitchen to grab a drink. As I tossed a napkin in the trash, something caught my eye—a jar labeled “peanut sauce.”
My heart sank. My husband has a severe peanut allergy.
Panicking, I rushed to check on him. Thankfully, he seemed fine—no signs of distress, no allergic reaction. Gathering my courage, I confronted my mother-in-law.
She blushed and snapped, “Relax. He’s not really allergic. It’s all in his head. He had a reaction once as a kid and made a big deal of it.”
Her dismissal sent a chill through me. How could she risk his life just because she didn’t believe in his allergy? From that moment on, I realized some battles with family are about more than just food—they’re about respect and trust.
