How convenient that he would "forget" the delicious food I made for him leaving no choice but to get TWO popeyes chicken sandwiches, TWO fries, and a soda for lunch. Yeah, I know his usual order. This is not okay and I'm done ignoring it.
His "secret" stash? Gone! Beer? Gone! Junk food? Gone! He's going to be pissed when I accost him at the drive through and slap the bags out of his hand but I can live with that. I can live with being the villain, the nagging wife who watches his every move. He can't hide from me. I can live with the work of preparing every breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of our lives. What I can't live with is watching him deteriorate further. I can't live with him waking up several times a night gasping for air. I can't live with seeing his health problems compound.
This is my last hurrah and if he can't live with that, there's the door.
Now I have a restaurant to stake out.