My Husband Made a Schedule to ‘Improve’ Me as a Wife — I Taught Him a Valuable Lesson Instead

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.

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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 —”

“You thought what? That I could ‘improve’ myself like some project?” My voice was calm, but the hurt behind it was real. “Jake, marriage isn’t about lists or routines. It’s about respect. And if you ever try to ‘fix’ me like this again, you’ll be paying a hell of a lot more than what’s on that paper.”

Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Jake’s face softened, his shoulders slumping as he let out a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize how ridiculous it was. Steve made it sound sensible, but now I see it’s… it’s toxic. Oh God, I’ve been such a fool.”

I nodded, watching him carefully. “Yes, you have. Honestly, have you looked at Steve’s life? What makes you think he has the life experience to give you advice about marriage? Or anything else?”

The look on his face as my words hit home was priceless.

“You’re right. And he could never afford to live like this.” He slapped the list with the back of his hand. “He… he has no idea about the costs involved, or how demeaning this is. Oh, Lisa, I got carried away again, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but we’ll recover. Now, let’s tear that paper up and go back to being equals.”

He smiled weakly, the tension breaking just a little. “Yeah… let’s do that.”

We ripped up the list together, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were back on the same team.

Maybe this was what we needed, a reminder that marriage isn’t about one person being “better” than the other. It’s about being better together.

My Husband Brought Home a Pregnant Lover and Told Me to Move to My Mom’s – My Revenge Was Harsh

Eight years of marriage shattered in one quick breath when my husband Mike brought home his pregnant sidekick and KICKED ME OUT of the house. I packed alright, but what I unpacked was a revenge plot so brilliant and karmic!

Portrait of a sad young woman | Source: Midjourney

Portrait of a sad young woman | Source: Midjourney

It was a Tuesday evening when my life decided to go off the rails. I walked into our living room, tired from a long day at work, only to find a heavily pregnant woman sitting on our couch, eating chips.

At first, I thought maybe I’d accidentally wandered into the wrong house.

But no, there was our ugly floral wallpaper that Mike insisted on keeping, and there was Mike, looking like he’d just swallowed a porcupine.

A pregnant woman sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney

A pregnant woman sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney

“Hey, Michelle,” he said, his voice as casual as if he was asking me to pass the salt. “We need to talk.”

I stood there, frozen, my brain trying to compute the scene before me. The pregnant woman smiled awkwardly, her hand on her belly, looking like she was auditioning for a soap opera.

“This is Jessica,” Mike continued, gesturing to the human incubator on our couch. “She’s pregnant. With my child. It… it just happened. And we’ve decided to be together.”

A woman gaping in shock | Source: Midjourney

A woman gaping in shock | Source: Midjourney

I waited for the punchline. Surely, this was some elaborate prank for a new reality TV show. Maybe I’d win a car if I didn’t freak out?

But Mike’s face remained serious, and Jessica kept smiling that infuriating smile.

“Mike,” I said slowly, “what do you mean by ‘it just happened’? Did you trip and fall into her—?”

Mike had the audacity to look offended. “Enough, Michelle! This is serious. I think it’s best if you move out. You can go stay with your mom. Jess and I’ll take over the house.”

A serious-looking man sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney

A serious-looking man sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney

I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Nope, still not a dream.

I was half-expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I’d been Punk’d. But alas, no Ashton. Just my cheating husband and his very pregnant sidekick.

“Alright,” I calmly said. “I’ll pack my things and leave.”

Mike looked relieved, probably thinking he’d gotten off easy. Jessica’s smile grew wider, like she’d just won the lottery. Little did they know, the lottery was about to hit them back, and hit them hard.

A heartbroken woman at the doorway | Source: Midjourney

A heartbroken woman at the doorway | Source: Midjourney

I went upstairs, packed a suitcase with some essentials, and left without another word.

As I drove to my mom’s house, the shock wore off, and rage took its place. But this wasn’t just any rage. This was the kind of rage that makes you want to do something spectacularly stupid and incredibly satisfying.

The next day, I set my plan in motion.

First stop: the bank. I marched in there like a woman on a mission, which I was. I froze our joint account faster than you can say “cheating jerk.”

The look on the bank manager’s face when I explained why was priceless. I’m pretty sure he was mentally taking notes for his next novel.

A woman outside a bank | Source: Midjourney

A woman outside a bank | Source: Midjourney

Next, I visited a locksmith.

I remembered overhearing Mike tell Jessica they’d be gone for three days, giving me plenty of time to execute my master plan. It was like the universe was conspiring in my favor, and who was I to argue with destiny?

My next stop: my house. The same cozy house Mike and I once lived together, planning a future that was now a total trainwreck.

The puzzled locksmith probably thought I was crazy, cackling as I had him change all the locks on the house. I may have gone a bit overboard and asked for the most complicated, high-tech locks available. Hey, if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. And big.

A locksmith fixing a door lock | Source: Midjourney

A locksmith fixing a door lock | Source: Midjourney

Then came the movers.

I gave them the spare keys and scheduled them to pack up everything I owned, which was basically everything in the house. I even took the toilet paper. Let’s see how Mike and Jessica enjoy using leaves!

But the piece de resistance? Oh, that was yet to come. I had a brilliant idea that would make this revenge not just sweet, but long-lasting.

Toilet paper rolls in a basket | Source: Midjourney

Toilet paper rolls in a basket | Source: Midjourney

I sent out party invitations. Lots of them. To Mike’s family, our friends, his coworkers, even that nosy neighbor who always complained about our late dog.

The invitation read: “Come celebrate Mike’s new life! Surprise party at our house, tomorrow at 7 p.m.!”

A party invitation | Source: Midjourney

A party invitation | Source: Midjourney

Then, I commissioned a billboard. Yes, a billboard. A huge one. It was delivered and set up on our front lawn, impossible to miss.

In giant, bold letters, it proclaimed: “Congratulations on Dumping Me for Your Pregnant Mistress, Mike! Hope the Baby Doesn’t Inherit Your Infidelity!”

I stepped back to admire my handiwork, feeling like a mischievous fairy godmother who’d just granted the world’s most ironic wish. With a satisfied smirk and a dramatic hair flip, I sashayed away from the scene, eagerly anticipating the chaos that was about to unfold.

A billboard outside a house | Source: Midjourney

A billboard outside a house | Source: Midjourney

The next evening, right on cue, my phone rang. It was Mike, and he sounded like he was having an aneurysm.

“Michelle!” he screeched, his voice hitting octaves I didn’t know he could reach. “What the hell is going on? Why are there people at our house? And what’s with this insane billboard?”

“Oh, that?” I said, trying to sound innocent. “Just a little housewarming party for you and Jessica. Don’t you like the decorations?”

“Decorations? It’s a freaking circus out here! And why can’t I get into the house?”

A startled man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A startled man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

I couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, honey, you told me to move out, remember? You never said anything about you staying there. I just remembered that the house is solely under my name. So, I changed the locks. Oopsie!”

There was a long silence on the other end. I could almost hear the gears in his tiny brain trying to process what was happening.

“Where are we supposed to go?” he finally sputtered.

“Gee, I don’t know, Mike. Maybe Jessica’s mom would love to have you? I hear pregnancy hormones and in-laws mix really well.”

A smiling woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

I hung up, feeling lighter than I had in years. But wait, there was more!

In the days that followed, I had the utilities cut off, canceled the cable, and made sure all our joint assets were transferred into my name. I listed the house for sale, making sure to mention in the listing that it came with a “bonus front lawn art installation.”

I had Mike served with divorce papers at work. I specifically requested the mailman to dress up as a pregnant woman. Just for funsies.

But the universe wasn’t done with Mike yet. Oh no, it had saved the best for last.

A man gaping in shock as he holds some papers | Source: Midjourney

A man gaping in shock as he holds some papers | Source: Midjourney

A week later, I got a call from Jessica. Yes, that Jessica. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.

“Michelle,” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know… I mean, Mike told me you two were separated. And now… now he’s broke and homeless, and I’m pregnant, and I don’t know what to do!”

I almost felt bad for her. Almost.

“Well, Jessica,” I said, trying to keep the glee out of my voice, “I hear the circus is always looking for new acts. Maybe you two could start a juggling duo? You juggle the baby, he juggles his lies?”

She didn’t appreciate my humor. Tsk! Tsk!

Silhouette of a pregnant woman holding a smartphone | Source: Midjourney

Silhouette of a pregnant woman holding a smartphone | Source: Midjourney

As it turns out, when Jessica found out that Mike was now homeless, broke, and the laughingstock of the town, she decided that maybe being with a guy who had no money, no house, and no future wasn’t such a great idea after all.

She dumped him faster than you can say “Karma’s a b****!”

Last I heard, Mike was living in a tiny apartment, trying to scrape together enough money to pay bills and feed his hungry belly. His family had cut him off, disgusted by his behavior.

They even sent me a fruit basket and a sorry card. I ate the fruits while soaking in my new jacuzzi.

As for me? Well, the house sold for a nice profit. I moved to a beautiful new place, started my own business, and adopted a cat. I named him Karma.

A woman with her pet cat | Source: Midjourney

A woman with her pet cat | Source: Midjourney

So yeah, my revenge might have been a bit over the top. But let’s be real, bringing home a pregnant mistress and trying to kick me out of my own house? That’s not just crossing a line, that’s pole-vaulting over it and then setting the pole on fire.

In the end, I learned a valuable lesson: When life gives you lemons, don’t just make lemonade. Squeeze those lemons into the eyes of those who wronged you, and then sit back and watch them stumble around blindly. It’s much more satisfying.

And remember, folks: cheaters never prosper, but the cheated-on with a good sense of humor and a flair for the dramatic? Oh, we do just fine!

A cheerful woman smiling | Source: Midjourney

A cheerful woman smiling | Source: Midjourney

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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