I was floored when my husband, Jeff, brought in a maid to “teach” me how to cook and clean like the ideal wife. Rather than push back, I played along. What Jeff didn’t see coming was the lesson I had in store for him — one that would turn his perfect plan topsy-turvy.
I’m Leighton, 32, juggling a full-time job, a chaotic household, and a 34-year-old husband who’s lately become an expert on what a “perfect wife” should be.
Jeff and I both work demanding jobs: he’s in finance, constantly stressed about quarterly reports, while I’m in marketing, which means my brain is fried by the time I get home. You’d think we’d cut each other some slack, but lately, Jeff’s expectations have been through the roof.
It all started after that infamous dinner at his boss Tom’s place. Tom’s wife, Susan, greeted us with this warm smile, wearing a perfectly pressed dress that probably cost more than my rent in college. Her house? Spotless. Not a speck of dust, not a misplaced throw pillow.
And don’t get me started on the five-course meal she whipped up as if she’d been born holding a spatula. Jeff couldn’t stop gawking.
“You see how Susan keeps everything in order? Dinner’s ready the minute Tom gets home,” Jeff had said on the drive back, his voice dripping with admiration. “You could take a few pointers.”
I bit my tongue, staring out the window to avoid rolling my eyes but Tom wasn’t done yet. “Why don’t you try a little harder? I mean, how difficult can it be to keep things clean when you get home before me?”
The comparisons didn’t stop. Every day was a new critique. “Susan keeps her house spotless. Susan has time to make fresh pasta from scratch. Susan always looks put together.”
He’d say this while tossing his dirty clothes two feet from the laundry basket or leaving his dishes right where he finished eating.
One evening, he came home and immediately started inspecting the house like some kind of drill sergeant. He ran his finger along the windowsill and frowned. “You missed a spot. Are you even trying?”
I glanced up from my laptop, barely containing my frustration. “Seriously, Jeff?”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying, maybe you could put in a little more effort. It’s not like you don’t have time.”
That was his new favorite line. Not like you don’t have time. As if my workday and commute weren’t as draining as his. But the final straw came one Friday night.
I walked in, dreaming of a hot shower and some rest, but instead, I found a young woman in our kitchen. She was holding a mop and wearing an apron, her eyes darting nervously around like she’d accidentally wandered into the wrong house.
Jeff stood beside her, arms crossed, with a self-satisfied grin. “Leighton, meet Marianne. She’s here to teach you how to clean and cook properly.”
I blinked, trying to process what I was hearing. “I’m sorry… teach me?”
Jeff sighed like he was talking to a stubborn child. “Yeah, honey. I’ve tried being patient, but clearly, you’re not getting it. Susan suggested I get someone to help you get up to speed. So, here we are.”
Marianne glanced at me, then at Jeff, and back at me. “I usually just… you know, clean houses,” she said softly, almost apologetic. “He offered me double if I’d show you how.”
I turned to Jeff, barely keeping my voice steady. “So, you’re paying her to teach me to clean and cook?”
He nodded, still oblivious. “Yeah. This way, you can get the hang of it properly. Marianne, don’t hold back.”
I wanted to scream. This man, who never lifted a finger, had the audacity to hire someone to teach me how to clean? I could see Marianne’s discomfort too, like she was dragged into some weird reality TV show.
I forced a smile, seething inside. “I’m sure I’ve got a lot to learn, Jeff. Thanks for looking out for me.”
Jeff left, pleased with himself, while Marianne looked like she was ready to bolt. I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Listen, I don’t need lessons. But I do have a little idea that could use some help. Are you game?”
Marianne’s face lit up, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”
I smiled, already plotting. “Let’s just say Jeff’s about to learn a lesson of his own.”
Over the next few weeks, I gave Jeff exactly what he’d been asking for: the perfect housewife. Every day, I woke up early, made his breakfast, cleaned the house until it sparkled, and cooked elaborate dinners that looked straight out of a cooking show.
I even dressed up every evening, greeting him at the door with a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
But I was cold as ice. I didn’t nag or complain, but I also didn’t engage. No conversations about my day, no affectionate touches, not even a casual laugh. I became the picture of domestic perfection, but I was just going through the motions. It didn’t take long for Jeff to notice something was off.
“Hey, babe,” he said one evening, hovering at the kitchen door while I prepared a three-course meal. “You’ve been quiet lately. Is everything okay?”
I barely looked up, keeping my tone polite but distant. “I’m fine, Jeff. Just busy with the house, like you wanted.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t have to be… this dedicated. I mean, it’s great, but it’s like you’re here, but you’re not.”
I shrugged, setting the table with precision. “I’m just focusing on what you asked me to do, Jeff.”
He nodded, but I could tell he was confused. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A perfect house, perfect meals, perfect wife. But I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of my usual warmth, and it was starting to bother him.
As the days went on, I kept up my act. Every task was done flawlessly, but our relationship? It was as cold and mechanical as a well-rehearsed performance. I knew Jeff could feel the distance between us, but he didn’t know how to fix it. And I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
Then came the day I’d been planning for weeks. After a perfectly silent dinner, I cleared the plates and turned to him with a cheerful smile. “Jeff, we need to talk.”
He glanced up, a nervous smile twitching on his lips. “What’s up?”
I sat across from him, placing a neatly folded piece of paper on the table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole ‘perfect housewife’ thing. Marianne really opened my eyes to how much work it takes to run a household like this. It’s a full-time job, honestly.”
Jeff frowned, not sure where I was going. “Uh, okay?”
“So, I’ve decided,” I continued brightly. “I’m going to quit my job and focus on this full-time.”
His jaw dropped. “You’re quitting your job?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! You wanted the house to be spotless, meals cooked from scratch, and everything just right. To do that, I need to dedicate all my time to it. But here’s the catch — I can’t do it for free.”
He blinked, baffled. “Wait, what do you mean ‘can’t do it for free?’”
I slid the paper toward him. It was a contract I’d typed up, outlining my new terms.
“If I’m giving up my career, I should be compensated. Susan doesn’t work, and Tom supports her. So, I’ll need you to pay me a salary. This is what I think is fair.”
He stared at me, his face turning from confused to outraged. “You want me to pay you? Leighton, this is absurd!”
I kept my tone sweet, but my words were laced with ice. “Oh, but it makes perfect sense. You wanted me to be a perfect wife, and I’ve been delivering. But perfection isn’t free, Jeff. If you expect me to maintain the household to your standards, I deserve compensation. And if you’re not willing to pay, that’s fine. I’ll just stop doing it.”
He gaped at me, the color draining from his face. “I never asked you to quit your job! I never wanted this.”
I leaned back, arms crossed, savoring every second. “Oh, but you did, Jeff. You wanted a house that looked like Susan’s, meals like hers, and a wife who dedicated herself entirely to domestic duties. I’m just doing exactly what you asked for. But I have my standards too, and if you want this level of dedication, it comes at a price.”
There was a long, tense silence. Jeff held the contract, his eyes fixated on the exorbitant salary. I could see the gears turning as he realized he’d dug himself into a hole he couldn’t easily climb out of.
Finally, he sputtered, “This isn’t what I meant! I work hard all day. I don’t have time to do everything around here!”
I stood up, keeping my voice calm but firm. “Exactly. And now you know what it feels like. If you’re not willing to pay me, maybe it’s time you start contributing more around the house. Or you could always hire Marianne full-time. She’s great, after all.”
I left him sitting there, flustered and speechless.
From that day on, Jeff’s attitude changed. He never agreed to pay me, of course, but he also stopped complaining. And suddenly, chores were no longer just my responsibility.
Jeff started picking up after himself, doing the laundry, and even cooking dinner a few nights a week. He never brought up Susan again, and I never saw him running a finger along the shelves in search of dust.
Turns out, when you give someone exactly what they think they want, they realize pretty quickly that the fantasy isn’t nearly as sweet as the reality. Jeff learned that the hard way, and I got the one thing I’d wanted all along: respect.
In the end, Jeff didn’t need a perfect wife; he needed a partner. And if it took hiring a maid and drawing up a fake contract to get there. Well, that was a lesson worth teaching.
What do you think?
This Boy’s Bold Move with $13 Catapults His Family to a $2 Million Home
A young boy asked his mom for the last $13 she had saved for food so he could start a business. A few months later, he took her back to their tiny, old trailer and handed her the keys to their new $2 million home.
Annie Byrne, a mother from Atlanta, believed in teaching her son, Simon, the value of hard work and determination. She knew this would help him grow into a responsible person.
“Who cares if my son and I live in a rusty old trailer now? One day, he will take me to a palace and make me its queen!” Annie, a widow who worked as a janitor and struggled to get by, often dreamed of a better life.
One day, a mother’s prayers were answered in the most unbelievable way when her son handed her the keys to a $2 million house. But she didn’t know what sacrifices he made to make her dream come true.
“Mom, when will we live in a nice house?” 13-year-old Simon asked his mother. “It’s getting cold, and it’s cramped inside.”
Simon’s mom, Annie, didn’t know how to reply. She had very little savings, and her salary barely covered food and school costs for her son.
“Very soon… we’ll move very soon,” she told Simon, holding back tears. “Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”
Annie couldn’t sleep, though. She knew “soon” might never come. That night, she sat by Simon, heartbroken, thinking their struggles would never end.
The next morning, Simon’s friends asked him to play, but he didn’t go. He couldn’t be happy knowing how much his mom was struggling. While walking alone, Simon saw a boy earning money at a lemonade stand.
“Wow!” Simon thought. He wanted to start a small business, but he had almost no money. He left disappointed, but then an idea hit him. He ran home, excited.
“Mom, can I have some money?” he asked. Annie was hesitant.
“Son, I only have $13 left. That’s for food until I get paid next week,” she said.
But Simon was determined. “Mom, please trust me. Just give me the $13. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Reluctantly, Annie gave him the money, curious about what he’d do with it.
Later, Simon returned with several packets in his hands. Annie asked what they were, but he didn’t answer and grabbed a shovel. She watched in disbelief as he dug up the yard around their trailer, planting seeds from the packets.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Simon smiled and said, “Mom, if we plant today, we’ll harvest tomorrow!”
At first, Annie didn’t understand. But over the next few weeks, Simon worked hard, watering and caring for the garden. Soon, the yard was filled with fresh herbs and plants.
Annie thought they’d use the produce for themselves, but Simon surprised her.
“Mom, we can’t eat this,” he said. “I’m selling it at a little stall I’m setting up. We’ll use the extra for ourselves.”
Simon’s fresh produce became popular. People loved his natural, chemical-free vegetables, and soon, everything he sold was gone quickly. As his business grew, Simon realized he needed more space to grow more crops. He expanded the garden and started growing fruits and flowers too.
As the money rolled in, Simon and Annie moved into a rented house. Annie even quit her janitor job to help Simon in the garden. Their stall grew, and soon the whole town knew about them.
But their success attracted the jealousy of a wealthy farmer named Alex, who couldn’t believe a young boy was doing so well. Curious, Alex visited Simon’s garden one day.
“How do you grow such healthy produce without chemicals?” Alex asked.
Simon replied, “People should eat food, not poison. We use natural methods to keep the plants safe.”
Impressed, Alex realized he had misjudged Simon. Instead of competing with him, Alex asked Simon to partner with him. Simon ran to ask his mother if he should accept the offer.
After thinking it over, Annie agreed. Simon balanced school and working on Alex’s farm while still tending to his little garden.
Their business took off. They started selling produce not just locally but even to neighboring states. Two years later, Simon saved enough money to build a new house on the same spot their trailer once stood. With Alex’s help, the house was finally built.
When Simon handed his mother the keys to their new house, Annie cried tears of joy. Her dream had come true.
“Simon, you gave up your childhood to make me happy,” she said, hugging him. “I love you.”
Simon smiled. “I can still play and have fun, but I couldn’t watch you struggle. I’ll always be your little boy!”
Though Simon was now successful, he never forgot the small garden that started it all. He kept growing the crops but never sold them again.
“We should enjoy the fruits of our hard work, Mom,” he said, laughing. “We’re going to eat this ourselves!”
Simon’s business continued to grow, and there were rumors
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