I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along.Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”
Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
Daughter Discovers Sealed Letter in Attic, But Her Mom’s Reaction Left Her Speechless
Chloe visited her sick mother, Helen, every week. One day, while at her mom’s house, she decided to clean the attic. It seemed like no one had been up there for years. While cleaning, she found a box of old letters that could hold the answer to her biggest question—why her father left. But one letter stood out. It was sealed and had never been opened.
Chloe, now 34, had been coming to visit her mother more often recently. Helen’s health had gotten worse, and she was now bedridden and weak.
Chloe couldn’t shake the fear that any visit could be the last. This feeling hung over her heart constantly.
Every week, Chloe would come by with groceries. She cooked meals for her mother and handled the tasks that Helen could no longer do.
It was hard for Chloe to watch her once-strong mother, Helen, grow so weak. But Chloe knew it was important to be there, no matter how difficult it felt.
One chilly afternoon, Chloe stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. The smell of chicken and herbs filled the room, and the bubbling of the broth was the only sound.
But then Helen’s sharp voice broke the silence from the living room.
“You know, at your age, I already had you,” Helen called, sounding irritated. “When are you going to have children?”
Chloe tensed, gripping the spoon tighter. Her mother had made this comment before, but it always hurt.
Helen had grown more critical with age. She often commented on Chloe’s lack of children, her career, or her relationship. Chloe tried not to let it get to her, but it was tiring.
“Maybe one day, Mom,” Chloe replied softly, not wanting to argue since Helen wasn’t well enough for it.
After feeding Helen and making sure she was comfortable, Chloe tidied up the kitchen. The house was a mess since her mother’s illness had worsened, and there was always so much to do.
When Helen finally fell asleep, Chloe decided to tackle a bigger job—the attic. No one had been up there for years, and it was time to clean it out.
The attic was dimly lit, with thick layers of dust covering everything. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and the air smelled musty.
As Chloe sorted through old belongings, something caught her eye—a small box in the corner. She pulled it out and saw it was locked. After finding a hammer, she gently tapped the rusty lock until it broke.
Inside were dozens of old letters, yellowed with age. Chloe’s breath caught as she realized they were love letters from her father—the man she had never known.
Each letter was filled with love and promises to return soon. Her father had been an actor, traveling with a theater troupe. In his letters, he sent money and wrote about missing Helen. Chloe was completely absorbed, learning about a love story she had never heard.
At the bottom of the box, Chloe found one final letter. It was still sealed, as if waiting all these years. Her heart raced—why hadn’t her mother opened it? What secrets did it hold?
Chloe knew she couldn’t open it without asking her mother first, no matter how badly she wanted to know the truth.
She went to her mother’s room, where Helen was awake. Chloe hesitated, knowing this would upset her.
“Mom, I found a box of letters in the attic. They’re from Dad,” Chloe said carefully.
Helen’s face hardened, and she snapped, “What were you doing going through my things?”
“I was just cleaning,” Chloe answered quickly. “But there’s one letter you never opened. Why?”
Helen’s face flushed with anger. “Burn them! I never opened that letter for a reason. You will never read it! Swear it!”
Chloe was shocked. “But Mom, don’t I have a right to know? He’s my father, and I know nothing about him.”
Helen sighed deeply, too exhausted to argue anymore. Chloe, feeling defeated, left the room, still holding the unopened letter.
Chloe sat in the living room, staring at the sealed envelope. This letter might finally reveal why her father had left, but part of her didn’t want to open it. What if the truth was worse than the mystery?
After a long pause, Chloe took a deep breath and opened the letter. Her heart sank as she saw it was charred, but the message was clear: her father loved Helen and their unborn child. He had promised to come back.
Behind it was another letter, from her father’s best friend, explaining that her father had died a hero, saving people from a fire during one of his performances.
Chloe rushed back to her mother’s room, demanding, “Why didn’t you tell me? Dad loved us!”
Helen’s voice trembled as she explained, “He loved us, but he loved his work more. He stayed behind to help people in a fire and died.”
Chloe was stunned. “He died… a hero?”
Helen nodded. “I couldn’t read that letter. I wanted to forget.”
Chloe sat down beside her mother. “Do you want me to read it to you?”
Helen hesitated but smiled through her tears. “I’d love that.”
With a deep breath, Chloe began to read her father’s final words aloud, letting the love he left behind fill the room.
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