Melanie was a six-year-old girl who had always wanted a family. She had been in foster care since she was two years old, too young to remember her real parents.
She often thought about them and wondered, “Who were they? Did they love me?” These thoughts made her sad, and she’d ask herself, “Why didn’t they want me?” But despite her sadness, Melanie never gave up hope.
Then one day, something amazing happened, something Melanie had been praying for.
A social worker visited Melanie one day, bringing a young couple with her. The man winked at Melanie with a grin, and the woman had the kindest eyes Melanie had ever seen.
“This is Gordon and Helen,” the social worker said, “and they want to adopt you.”
“They do?” Melanie gasped, then looked at them and asked, “Why do you want to do that?”
Gordon was surprised by the question, but Helen knelt down to Melanie’s level and said, “We want to adopt you because we think you’re the nicest, funniest, and prettiest girl in New York City.”
Melanie smiled brightly and hugged Helen. She finally had a family that wanted and loved her just the way she was.
Living with Gordon and Helen, Melanie found out that having parents was both wonderful and difficult. It was great to have two people always caring for her, but it was tough because they noticed when she didn’t do her homework or did something she shouldn’t.
In her foster home, it was easy to get away with things since there were so many kids. But in a real family, people paid attention because they cared. Melanie realized this was a good thing, and when Helen asked her to clean her room, she hugged her and said, “Thank you!”
Helen laughed and said, “I should tell you off more often, Melanie!”
“Yes, please!” Melanie replied. “Then I’ll know you care.”
Six months passed, and the little family grew closer. They learned about each other’s habits—Melanie knew to be quiet in the mornings because Gordon worked night shifts, and Gordon stopped scaring her with plastic spiders after learning she was genuinely scared.
Helen discovered both Gordon and Melanie loved peanut butter cookies, and they’d all sit together on the porch, eating them as fast as they could.
Life was happy, but then something bad happened. Gordon got hurt at work and had to stay in the hospital for weeks. Helen became more worried as the bills piled up.
Melanie noticed and would often comfort Helen at night, sneaking into her bed to give her a hug. “Thank God for you, Melanie,” Helen would say softly.
Thankfully, Gordon recovered and came home, though he had to use crutches. But soon, medical bills arrived, and Helen looked more and more worried. “We’ll sort it out,” Gordon said, trying to stay calm.
“Our savings are gone,” Helen whispered. “What if Melanie needs something, and we don’t have the money?”
Gordon reassured her, saying, “Trust in God.” Then, turning to Melanie, he joked, “Hey, I think there are some peanut butter cookies hiding on the top shelf.”
One morning, Melanie woke up to a loud noise—a party whistle in her ear! She opened her eyes to see her room full of balloons. Gordon and Helen were standing by her bed, wearing silly hats and yelling, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
Melanie smiled. “I forgot it was my birthday!”
“Come on,” said Gordon. “There’s a surprise!”
In the dining room, a big banner read “Happy Birthday, Melanie!” and on the table was the most beautiful birthday cake she had ever seen.
“Is this for me?” she whispered, amazed. She saw her name on the cake, surrounded by stars.
“It has my name on it!” Melanie cried and burst into tears.
Gordon and Helen were worried. “Why are you crying?” Gordon asked gently.
“I’ve never had a birthday cake before!” Melanie sobbed. “Does this mean you love me? Really, really love me?”
Gordon and Helen hugged her tightly. “Of course we love you!” Helen said. “We chose YOU!”
It was the best birthday Melanie had ever had, and even though she ate too much cake and got a little sick, it was a day filled with happiness.
The next morning, the family was getting ready for church when there was a knock at the door. A tall man stood there. “Are you Melanie’s adoptive mother?” he asked Helen.
“Yes,” Helen replied. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of her birth father,” the man said. “I’d like to see her.”
“You can’t take her away!” Helen cried, panicking.
“I’m not here to take her,” the man said gently. “I just want to talk to her.”
Helen and Gordon sat nearby, holding hands, while the man spoke to Melanie. “My dear,” he began, “your mommy and daddy loved you very much. But your mom went to heaven when you were a baby, and soon after, your dad got very sick.”
Melanie listened carefully. “Your dad wanted to make sure you were taken care of, so he asked me to sell everything he had for you.”
The man handed Melanie a piece of paper. “He wanted you to have this when you turned eighteen, or when you were adopted by a loving family. I believe Gordon and Helen love you very much, so I’m giving this to you now.”
Melanie gave the paper to Helen, who started crying. It was a check for $40,000. Melanie’s birth family had left her a gift that came at just the right time, helping her new family when they needed it the most!
Source: Pexels
A social worker visited Melanie one day, bringing a young couple with her. The man winked at Melanie with a grin, and the woman had the kindest eyes Melanie had ever seen.
“This is Gordon and Helen,” the social worker said, “and they want to adopt you.”
“They do?” Melanie gasped, then looked at them and asked, “Why do you want to do that?”
Gordon was surprised by the question, but Helen knelt down to Melanie’s level and said, “We want to adopt you because we think you’re the nicest, funniest, and prettiest girl in New York City.”
Melanie smiled brightly and hugged Helen. She finally had a family that wanted and loved her just the way she was.
Living with Gordon and Helen, Melanie found out that having parents was both wonderful and difficult. It was great to have two people always caring for her, but it was tough because they noticed when she didn’t do her homework or did something she shouldn’t.
In her foster home, it was easy to get away with things since there were so many kids. But in a real family, people paid attention because they cared. Melanie realized this was a good thing, and when Helen asked her to clean her room, she hugged her and said, “Thank you!”
Helen laughed and said, “I should tell you off more often, Melanie!”
“Yes, please!” Melanie replied. “Then I’ll know you care.”
Six months passed, and the little family grew closer. They learned about each other’s habits—Melanie knew to be quiet in the mornings because Gordon worked night shifts, and Gordon stopped scaring her with plastic spiders after learning she was genuinely scared.
Helen discovered both Gordon and Melanie loved peanut butter cookies, and they’d all sit together on the porch, eating them as fast as they could.
Life was happy, but then something bad happened. Gordon got hurt at work and had to stay in the hospital for weeks. Helen became more worried as the bills piled up.
Melanie noticed and would often comfort Helen at night, sneaking into her bed to give her a hug. “Thank God for you, Melanie,” Helen would say softly.
Thankfully, Gordon recovered and came home, though he had to use crutches. But soon, medical bills arrived, and Helen looked more and more worried. “We’ll sort it out,” Gordon said, trying to stay calm.
“Our savings are gone,” Helen whispered. “What if Melanie needs something, and we don’t have the money?”
Gordon reassured her, saying, “Trust in God.” Then, turning to Melanie, he joked, “Hey, I think there are some peanut butter cookies hiding on the top shelf.”
One morning, Melanie woke up to a loud noise—a party whistle in her ear! She opened her eyes to see her room full of balloons. Gordon and Helen were standing by her bed, wearing silly hats and yelling, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
Melanie smiled. “I forgot it was my birthday!”
“Come on,” said Gordon. “There’s a surprise!”
In the dining room, a big banner read “Happy Birthday, Melanie!” and on the table was the most beautiful birthday cake she had ever seen.
“Is this for me?” she whispered, amazed. She saw her name on the cake, surrounded by stars.
“It has my name on it!” Melanie cried and burst into tears.
Gordon and Helen were worried. “Why are you crying?” Gordon asked gently.
“I’ve never had a birthday cake before!” Melanie sobbed. “Does this mean you love me? Really, really love me?”
Gordon and Helen hugged her tightly. “Of course we love you!” Helen said. “We chose YOU!”
It was the best birthday Melanie had ever had, and even though she ate too much cake and got a little sick, it was a day filled with happiness.
The next morning, the family was getting ready for church when there was a knock at the door. A tall man stood there. “Are you Melanie’s adoptive mother?” he asked Helen.
“Yes,” Helen replied. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of her birth father,” the man said. “I’d like to see her.”
“You can’t take her away!” Helen cried, panicking.
“I’m not here to take her,” the man said gently. “I just want to talk to her.”
Helen and Gordon sat nearby, holding hands, while the man spoke to Melanie. “My dear,” he began, “your mommy and daddy loved you very much. But your mom went to heaven when you were a baby, and soon after, your dad got very sick.”
Melanie listened carefully. “Your dad wanted to make sure you were taken care of, so he asked me to sell everything he had for you.”
The man handed Melanie a piece of paper. “He wanted you to have this when you turned eighteen, or when you were adopted by a loving family. I believe Gordon and Helen love you very much, so I’m giving this to you now.”
Melanie gave the paper to Helen, who started crying. It was a check for $40,000. Melanie’s birth family had left her a gift that came at just the right time, helping her new family when they needed it the most!
My husband hired someone to teach me how to clean and cook – he wasn’t pleased with how I got back at him
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?
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