A Man Wants a Divorce! – Story Of The Day!

The courtroom was quiet in the way only courtrooms ever are—heavy with expectation, polished with formality, and faintly tense, as if everyone present knew that something personal was about to be exposed under fluorescent lights. At the center of it all stood a man in his early forties, shoulders slumped, eyes tired, clutching a folder that contained his formal request for divorce.

He looked like someone who had rehearsed his grievances many times. Like someone who had finally reached the end of his patience.

The judge, an older man with a calm face and a voice practiced in defusing conflict, glanced down at the paperwork and then back up at the husband.

“So,” the judge said evenly, “you’re asking to dissolve your marriage. Tell me why.”

The man cleared his throat. He spoke carefully at first, but the words soon tumbled out faster, fueled by months—maybe years—of frustration. His wife, he said, constantly asked him to do things. Small things. Endless things. Peel garlic. Chop onions. Soak dishes. Separate laundry. Clean up messes that never seemed to end. Nothing was ever enough. The demands were relentless. He felt trapped, exhausted, unappreciated.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he concluded. “I want out.”

The judge listened without interruption, nodding slowly, as if he’d heard variations of this story hundreds of times before. When the man finished, the courtroom waited for judgment, advice, perhaps even validation.

Instead, the judge leaned back slightly and smiled.

“You know,” he said, “there are ways to make those things easier.”

The husband blinked.

“For garlic,” the judge continued casually, “you can crush it lightly with the side of a knife and the peel comes right off. Onions? Chill them first—less sting, faster chopping. Dishes soak better with hot water and a bit of vinegar. Laundry lasts longer if you separate colors properly. Saves arguments.”

A few quiet chuckles rippled through the courtroom.

The husband stared at the judge, confused. This wasn’t what he expected. The judge kept going, listing household tricks with the confidence of someone who had learned them the hard way. He spoke about efficiency, routines, compromise. About how marriages were often less about grand betrayals and more about the slow grind of everyday life.

“If you’re willing,” the judge said finally, “you can withdraw your petition. Sometimes the problem isn’t the work itself, but how we look at it.”

There was a pause.

Then, slowly, the husband exhaled. His shoulders dropped even further, but this time not from defeat—more from clarity. He nodded.

“I’d like to withdraw the petition,” he said.

The courtroom relaxed. Pens stopped scribbling. People assumed the matter was settled.

But just as the judge began to move on, the husband spoke again.