This winter hit hard and my boots finally gave up after five long years. The soles cracked, water seeped in, and even double socks couldn’t keep my feet warm. I take care of the kids full-time while my husband, Greg, works a decent job at a tech company.

When I asked Greg for money for new boots, he gave me a look like I’d asked him to buy me a yacht. “My mom needs a microwave for Christmas. You can wait until next year.”

I was stunned. “Greg, these are falling apart. I can’t wait.”

But he just raised his hand, all smug, and said, “I said no, Lauren. I decide how MY money is spent.”

That’s when I was done being the martyr. Greg had to reap what he sowed.

First, I carefully unpacked the microwave, placed my worn-out boots in its box, and wrapped it back up in the same shiny paper Greg had used. I even added a glittery bow for effect.

When Christmas morning arrived, Greg’s mom, Sharon, made her grand entrance at our house in her fur coat and reeking of Chanel No. 5.

Greg handed her the big box with a proud smile. “Here you go, Mom. Merry Christmas!”

Sharon tore into the wrapping. But when she pulled out my old, battered boots, her face twisted in horror.

“What on earth is this?” she screeched, holding them up like they were a d:ead animal.

“What the hell, Lauren? Where’s the microwave?”

I sipped my coffee, unbothered. “Oh, I decided to sell it and repurpose the money for something more practical.”

Greg turned red. “You embarrassed me in front of my mom! What were you thinking?”

I stood, too, “I was thinking about how I’ve been walking around with frozen toes while you play Santa for someone who doesn’t even need a new microwave.” I turned to Sharon, who was still clutching the boots like they might attack her. “Maybe you should try walking a mile in my shoes. Literally.”

Sharon sputtered. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re pulling, Lauren, but this is completely inappropriate. This is my gift from my son.”

“Well, your son is prioritizing your whims over his wife’s basic safety,” I shot back.

After my statement, the room was silent. Greg and I were stuck in a staring match, His face showed he was furious.

Sharon left shortly after telling us she’d see us tonight. When the door closed, my husband left our house, too.

That had been rough and ugly. I breathed a huge sigh. I also felt a little guilty for ruining their Christmas gift exchange, but it needed to happen.

I never sold her microwave. I just hid it beneath the kitchen sink. I intended to bring it to her gathering later.

I was shocked when I got to Sharon’s house with the kids.

I saw Greg sitting on her sofa, looking guilty. I immediately realized word of the “boot incident” had spread when Doreen, Greg’s sister, ran to hug me.

“Good for you, girl!” she whispered in my ear. “I couldn’t believe it when Mom told me, but I chastised her and then, him, especially when he arrived here alone.”

I hugged her back. “Does the rest of the family know?”

She pulled back and smiled brightly. “Mom took my words to heart and told everyone as soon as they arrived. They’ve all given my brother a piece of their minds. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life!” she added.

Though the rest of the dinner was fantastic, Greg was quiet and avoided my eyes.

By the end of the night, I gave Sharon her real gift from Greg. She hugged me and apologized on her son’s behalf. She hoped I wouldn’t hold the incident against her because she was working on her materialistic ways.

I forgave her, and she sent me and the kids home with most of the delicious leftovers.

Greg avoided me. I was disappointed he hadn’t learned his lesson as quickly as his mother.

Some days later, I sold some unused items online and combined that money with the cash I got from Christmas cards. I walked into a store a day after and bought myself a pair of beautiful, warm winter boots.

When I arrived home hours later, Greg was standing in the middle of the living room. His face darkened when he saw my new boots.

“Where’d you get the money for those?”

I smiled and slipped off the boots, “Oh, I decided how MY money is spent. Do you have a problem with that?”

Greg’s face twisted. “Yes… well, no. It’s just that…” he trailed off.

He retrieved a gift box from under the tree. It hadn’t been there this morning. “I went out and bought this,” he shrugged. “It took me a while, and my pride got in the way, but I was wrong, baby. Can you forgive me?”

I took the gift box, trying to hide my excitement. I knew what was inside: a pair of new winter boots, which were much more expensive than the ones I’d bought.

I hugged Greg. And I think I fell in love with him more that winter. Because he started treating me like he did when we first fell in love.

Yet, I insisted on opening my own bank account and starting a side home business, so I could make my own money. I wasn’t going to stop being a stay-at-home mom or housewife, but a little more independence was just what the doctor ordered.