My husband created a new schedule to ‘improve my role as a wife’ — I taught him a lesson in return

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 —”

My Partner Wants Half the Rent from My Dad’s Gifted House!

When my boyfriend moved in, everything felt great, until he found out I owned the house. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but his reaction led to a fight we didn’t expect.

I was eighteen when my dad gave me the keys to my own house. It was an old two-story building that had been in our family for years. This gift meant a lot to me. We weren’t wealthy, not at all.

Dad bought the house for a great price from his grandmother’s cousin, and I knew how lucky I was. Every time I walked through the front door, I felt thankful

The house had its quirks. Each floor was like its own apartment, with separate entrances, kitchens, and bathrooms. I lived upstairs and rented the downstairs to a nice woman named Maggie.

Source: Pexels

She paid $500 a month—less than most places, but I wasn’t in it for the money. The rent just covered basic costs. I handled everything myself, which gave me a little independence.

Three months ago, my boyfriend, Jason, moved in with me. We’d been together for six months, and it made sense. His lease was ending, and my place had the space. Plus, it felt good to be building a life together.

Source: Pexels

He was easygoing about most things, and we split groceries evenly, which worked for both of us. We never really talked about finances beyond daily expenses.

He didn’t ask about rent, and I didn’t mention that I owned the house. It wasn’t that I was hiding it; it just didn’t seem important.

Source: Pexels

One night, while we were watching TV, a news story came on about rising rent prices. Jason groaned and said, “Man, landlords are the worst. They only care about money. It’s like they don’t think about people who can’t afford a place to live.”

I stayed quiet, sipping my tea, unsure of what to say. I didn’t know how to explain that I was technically a landlord. But I wasn’t like the ones he was talking about. I charged fair rent and didn’t try to take advantage of my tenant.

Source: Pexels

Jason continued, shaking his head. “It’s just wrong, you know? People shouldn’t profit from something as basic as housing.”

I nodded, trying to change the subject as soon as I could. We spent the rest of the night like usual, but his words stuck with me. What would he think if he knew I was renting out part of the house? I didn’t want to make it awkward, so I kept it to myself.

Source: Pexels

A few days later, I was cleaning the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. I wiped my hands on a towel and opened it to see Maggie looking worried.

“Hey, Maggie, everything okay?” I asked.

She frowned. “My freezer stopped working. I tried everything, but it’s just dead.”

“Oh no,” I said, stepping outside. “Let me take a look.”

Source: Pexels

I followed her downstairs to her apartment. Sure enough, the freezer was warm, and nothing seemed to be working. I sighed, knowing it was probably time to replace it.

“I’ll pay for a new one,” I said. “Just send me the receipt, and I’ll reimburse you.”

Maggie smiled, relieved. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ll go shopping for one tomorrow.”

“No problem,” I replied. “I’ll make sure you get the money back quickly.”

Source: Pexels

As I headed back upstairs, I realized Jason had probably heard the whole conversation. He was sitting on the couch when I walked in, looking a bit confused.

“Everything okay with Maggie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said casually, “her freezer broke, but I told her I’d cover it.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re paying for her freezer? Why would you do that?”

I paused, unsure of how to answer. “Well, the freezer was here when she moved in, so it’s kind of my responsibility.”

Source: Pexels

He frowned. “I don’t understand. Why is that your responsibility?”

I could feel the tension rising. “Because… it’s my house. I rent it to her.”

Jason stared at me, his expression changing as he processed what I just said.

“You own this place?” His voice was sharper, more surprised than I expected.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “I thought you knew.”

Source: Pexels

“No, I didn’t know,” he replied, his tone turning colder. “You never told me.”

“Well, it never came up,” I explained. “It’s not like I was trying to hide it.”

Jason shook his head, standing up. “I just… I can’t believe this.”

He walked over to the window, looking out as if trying to make sense of everything.

I stayed quiet, not sure what to say next.

The days after Jason found out I owned the house were tense. It wasn’t like before, where we’d laugh together while cooking or enjoy lazy evenings watching TV. He was distant and quieter, and something felt off. I didn’t want to push him, so I gave him space, hoping things would return to normal. But that didn’t happen.

One evening, I was cleaning up the kitchen when Jason walked in. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me.

Source: Pexels

“Still can’t believe you never told me,” he muttered, almost to himself.

I sighed, putting down the dish towel. “Jason, I wasn’t hiding it. It just didn’t seem important. You never asked.”

“Important?” He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You’re a landlord. That’s pretty important. Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

“I thought we were on the same page. I thought we saw the world the same way, but now… now I don’t know. Landlords just… they take advantage of people.” His voice was tight, and he wouldn’t look at me.

“I’m not like that!” I said, stepping closer. “Maggie’s rent is fair, and I fix anything that breaks. I’m not some greedy landlord you see on TV.”

He shook his head. “But you’re still making money off someone else’s need for a home.”

I felt anger rising in my chest. “I don’t think you understand what I do. I’m not hurting anyone. I charge Maggie way less than the market rate. I take care of the place. I’m not some big landlord trying to exploit people.”

“But you still own it. And you still make money off her.”

“Yeah, to keep the house from falling apart! I’m not getting rich from this, Jason. You know that.”

He shook his head, standing up from the couch. “It’s all the same. It’s about power. You have something she needs, and you make her pay for it.”

The next morning, things came to a head. I was on the phone with Maggie, confirming she’d bought the new freezer and that I’d reimburse her. Jason walked in as I was finishing the call.

“So, you’re paying for that?” he asked, sarcasm thick in his voice.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my tone steady. “The freezer was part of the apartment when she moved in. It’s my responsibility.”

He stared at me, frustration bubbling over. “Unbelievable.”

“Jason, I don’t know what you want from me,” I said, trying to stay calm. “What do you expect me to do?”

He folded his arms, his face hard. “I want you to stop being part of the problem. Either stop charging rent or give me half of what you’re making. If you’re gonna be a landlord, at least share the profits.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Share the profits? Jason, I’m not running a business here. The rent barely covers costs.”

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “You’re either with me, or you’re not. If you’re gonna keep profiting off people like that, then I deserve my share, too.”

Something in me broke then. “I’m not giving you half of anything. I’ve worked hard to keep this house running. If you think I’m going to start handing over money just because you don’t like how I manage it, then you’re out of your mind.”

Before I could respond, he grabbed the keys from the coffee table and threw them across the room. They hit the wall with a sharp clatter, and the next thing I knew, he swung his fist, aiming for the wall. The impact wasn’t strong enough to punch through, but it echoed in the room, sending a tremor through me.

“Fine!” he shouted, stepping back. His face was red, and he was breathing heavily. “I’m done. I’m not staying here, not with you.”

My hand shook as I reached for my phone. “Jason, stop,” I said, my voice trembling. “Just calm down.”

But he was already moving toward the door. I quickly typed a text to my dad: Please come now.

Jason didn’t turn around as he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The house felt silent, suddenly too big and too empty. I stood there, still shaking, listening to the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the driveway.

Within minutes, I heard my dad’s car pulling up. He didn’t ask questions when he saw me on the porch, arms wrapped around myself. He just pulled me into a hug, holding me tight as I tried to catch my breath.

“He’s gone,” I whispered, still stunned by how quickly it had all fallen apart.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of quiet knocking on my door. I still felt numb from the night before, Jason’s angry words echoing in my mind. I dragged myself to the door and opened it to see Maggie standing there with a small basket of freshly baked muffins.

“Hey, I heard about what happened,” she said softly. “I’m really sorry.”

I managed a weak smile, surprised she knew so quickly. “Thanks, Maggie. I’m okay.”

She handed me the basket. “I just wanted to bring these up. It’s nothing special, but I thought you could use something sweet.”

I took the basket, feeling warmth I hadn’t felt since Jason left. “You didn’t have to do that.

Related Posts

Paris Hilton, sad news

13 August 2024 M Love Animals 0

Paris Hilton revealed her anguish and annoyance at hearing disparaging remarks about her 8-month-old baby, Phoenix Barron, in a recent emotional social media post. Hilton […]

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*