Six months postpartum, drowning in baby laundry, and exhausted beyond words, I thought my husband would understand when our washing machine broke. But instead of helping, he shrugged and said, “Just wash everything by hand—people did it for centuries.”
I never thought I’d spend this much time doing laundry.
A tired woman in a chair | Source: Pexels
Six months ago, I gave birth to our first baby. Since then, my life had turned into a never-ending cycle of feeding, changing diapers, cleaning, cooking, and washing. So much washing. Babies go through more clothes in a day than an entire football team.
On a good day, I washed at least eight pounds of tiny onesies, burp cloths, blankets, and bibs. On a bad day? Let’s just say I stopped counting.
A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels
So when the washing machine broke, I knew I was in trouble.
I had just pulled out a soaking pile of clothes when it sputtered, let out a sad grinding noise, and died. I pressed the buttons. Nothing. I unplugged it, plugged it back in. Nothing.
My heart sank.
When Billy got home from work, I wasted no time.
A tired puzzled woman | Source: Pexels
“The washing machine is dead,” I said as soon as he stepped through the door. “We need a new one.”
Billy barely looked up from his phone. “Huh?”
“I said the washing machine broke. We need to replace it. Soon.”
He nodded absently, kicked off his shoes, and scrolled through his screen. “Yeah. Not this month.”
A man on his phone in his living room | Source: Pexels
I blinked. “What?”
“Not this month,” he repeated. “Maybe next month when I get my salary. Three weeks.”
I felt my stomach twist. “Billy, I can’t go three weeks without a washing machine. The baby’s clothes need to be cleaned properly every day.”
A couple having a serious talk | Source: Pexels
Billy sighed like I was asking for something unreasonable. He put his phone down and stretched his arms over his head. “Look, I already promised to pay for my mom’s vacation this month. She really deserves it.”
I stared at him. “Your mom’s vacation?”
“Yeah. She’s been babysitting for us. I thought it’d be nice to do something for her.”
Babysitting?
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
I swallowed hard. His mother came over once a month. She sat on the couch, watched TV, ate the dinner I cooked, and took a nap while the baby slept. That wasn’t babysitting. That was visiting.
Billy kept talking like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “She said she needed a break, so I figured I’d cover her trip. It’s just for a few days.”
A man talking to his wife in his kitchen | Source: Pexels
I crossed my arms. “Billy, your mom doesn’t babysit. She comes over, eats, naps, and goes home.”
He frowned. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, really? When was the last time she changed a diaper?”
Billy opened his mouth, then shut it. “That’s not the point.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I think it is.”
A couple arguing in their kitchen | Source: Pexels
He groaned, rubbing his face. “Look, can’t you just wash everything by hand for now? People used to do that for centuries. Nobody died from it.”
I stared at him, feeling my blood boil. Wash everything by hand. Like I wasn’t already drowning in work, exhausted, aching, and running on three hours of sleep a night.
An angry woman clutching her head | Source: Pexels
I took a slow, deep breath, my hands clenching into fists. I wanted to yell, to scream, to make him understand how unfair this was. But I knew Billy. Arguing wouldn’t change his mind.
I exhaled and looked at the pile of dirty clothes stacked by the door. Fine. If he wanted me to wash everything by hand, then that’s exactly what I’d do.
The first load wasn’t so bad.
A pile of clothes | Source: Pexels
I filled the bathtub with soapy water, dropped in the baby’s clothes, and started scrubbing. My arms ached, but I told myself it was temporary. Just a few weeks.
By the third load, my back was screaming. My fingers were raw. And I still had towels, bedsheets, and Billy’s work clothes waiting for me.
A tired woman sitting near a bathtub | Source: Midjourney
Every day was the same. Wake up, feed the baby, clean, cook, do laundry by hand, wring it out, hang it up. By the time I was done, my hands were swollen, my shoulders stiff, and my body exhausted.
Billy didn’t notice.
A bored man on a couch | Source: Pexels
He came home, kicked off his shoes, ate the dinner I cooked, and stretched out on the couch. I could barely hold a spoon, but he never once asked if I needed help. Never looked at my hands, red and cracked from hours of scrubbing.
One night, after I’d finished washing another pile of clothes, I collapsed onto the couch next to him. I winced as I rubbed my aching fingers.
Billy glanced at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
A tired woman on her couch | Source: Pexels
I stared at him. “What’s wrong with me?”
He shrugged. “You look tired.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Gee, I wonder why.”
He didn’t even flinch. Just turned back to the TV. That was the moment something snapped inside me.
An annoyed woman in her kitchen | Source: Pexels
Billy wasn’t going to understand—not unless he felt the inconvenience himself. If he wanted me to live like a 19th-century housewife, then fine. He could live like a caveman.
So I planned my revenge.
The next morning, I packed his lunch as usual. Except instead of the big, hearty meal he expected, I filled his lunchbox with stones. Right on top, I placed a folded note.
A lunchbox filled with rocks | Source: Midjourney
Then I kissed his cheek and sent him off to work.
And I waited.
At exactly 12:30 PM, Billy stormed through the front door, red-faced and furious.
“What the hell have you done?!” he shouted, slamming his lunchbox onto the counter.
I turned from the sink, wiping my hands on a towel. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
A laughing woman in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
He flipped open the lid, revealing the pile of rocks. He grabbed the note and read it out loud.
“Men used to get food for their families themselves. Go hunt your meal, make fire with stones, and fry it.”
His face twisted in rage. “Are you out of your damn mind, Shirley? I had to open this in front of my coworkers!”
I crossed my arms. “Oh, so public humiliation is bad when it happens to you?”
A shouting man wearing glasses | Source: Pexels
Billy clenched his jaw. He looked like he wanted to yell, but for once, he didn’t have a comeback.
I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “Go on, Billy. Tell me how this is different.”
His jaw tightened. “Shirley, this is—this is just childish.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I see. So your suffering is real, but mine is just me being childish?”
An angry woman lecturing her husband | Source: Pexels
He threw his hands in the air. “You could have just talked to me!”
I stepped forward, fire burning in my chest. “Talked to you? I did, Billy. I told you I couldn’t go three weeks without a washing machine. I told you I was exhausted. And you shrugged and told me to do it by hand. Like I was some woman from the 1800s!”
A woman turning away from her husband | Source: Pexels
His nostrils flared, but I could see the tiny flicker of guilt creeping in. He knew I was right.
I pointed at his lunchbox. “You thought I’d just take it, huh? That I’d wash and scrub and break my back while you sat on that couch every night without a care in the world?”
Billy looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
A sad man clutching his head | Source: Pexels
I shook my head. “I’m not a servant, Billy. And I’m sure as hell not your mother.”
Silence. Then, finally, he muttered, “I get it.”
“Do you?” I asked.
He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. I do.”
A tired man rubbing his temples | Source: Pexels
I watched him for a long moment, letting his words settle. Then I turned back to the sink. “Good,” I said, rinsing off my hands. “Because I meant it, Billy. If you ever put your mother’s vacation over my basic needs again, you’d better learn how to start a fire with those rocks.”
Billy sulked for the rest of the evening.
An angry man in a hoodie | Source: Pexels
He barely touched his dinner. He didn’t turn on the TV. He sat on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed him. Every now and then, he sighed loudly, like I was supposed to feel bad for him.
I didn’t.
For once, he was the one uncomfortable. He was the one who had to sit with the weight of his own choices. And I was perfectly fine letting him stew in it.
A woman reading a book on a couch | Source: Pexels
The next morning, something strange happened.
Billy’s alarm went off earlier than usual. Instead of hitting snooze five times, he actually got up. He got dressed quickly and left without a word.
I didn’t ask where he was going. I just waited.
That evening, when he came home, I heard it before I saw it—the unmistakable sound of a large box being dragged through the doorway.
A large box in the doorway | Source: Midjourney
I turned around and there it was. A brand-new washing machine.
Billy didn’t say anything. He just set it up, plugging in hoses, checking the settings. No complaints. No excuses. Just quiet determination.
When he finished, he finally looked up. His face was sheepish, his voice low.
“I get it now.”
A sorry man covering his face | Source: Pexels
I watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… should’ve listened to you sooner.”
“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. “You should have.”
He swallowed, nodded again, then grabbed his phone and walked away without argument or justification. Just acceptance. And honestly? That was enough.
A satisfied smiling woman | Source: Pexels
My Wife’s Best Friend Mocked Her behind Her Back, So I Decided to Teach Her a Harsh Lesson
A friendly dinner with my wife’s best friend turned into a night that would reveal who she really was. I overheard her say some of the most cruel things about my wife, and you won’t believe the revenge I plotted. I had to show this woman she could never mess with the people I love.
Friends enjoying dinner and drinks | Source: Pexels
I’m Jake. I’ve been with my wife Meg for over five years, and she’s the love of my life. We’ve been through a lot together, especially struggling with infertility.
About a month ago, we went to dinner with some friends, including Meg’s best friend and our maid of honor, Bethany. The evening was going pretty well, with lots of laughter and catching up.
As the night went on, I leaned over to Meg and said, “We should probably head out soon. We need to stick to our treatment schedule.”
Meg nodded, giving me a small smile. “You’re right. Let’s say our goodbyes.”
A couple having dinner | Source: Pexels
We excused ourselves, explaining to our friends, “Sorry to cut it short, but we’ve got an early appointment tomorrow.” Bethany and the others waved us off with cheerful goodbyes, and we left the restaurant, thinking the night had ended on a good note. Little did I know, it was just the beginning.
A man looking in his bag | Source: Pexels
So, we left, but I realized I had left my phone at the restaurant. “Oh no, I left my phone,” I said, patting my pockets frantically.
Meg looked at me with concern. “Do you want me to go with you?”
I shook my head. “No, you go on home. I’ll be quick.”
I hurried back to the restaurant and spotted my phone on the table. Just as I was grabbing it, I overheard Bethany talking to another friend.
A phone on the table | Source: Pexels
“Oh gosh, did you see Meg?” Bethany sneered. “She’s soooo pathetic! What does she hope for? I bet Jake will be crawling to me the moment I give him a wink. At least, I could give him a healthy child. She’s just sterile.”
My jaw hit the floor. How could she say that? I would never trade Meg for this evil woman. I didn’t lose it right there, though I was close. Instead, I decided Bethany needed a harsher wake-up call. So, I came up with a plan.
A man looking completely shocked | Source: Pexels
The next time we all got together, I started being extra friendly with Bethany. “Hey Bethany, you look great tonight,” I complimented, flashing her a smile.
She laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. “Thanks, Jake! You always know how to make a girl feel special.”
I laughed at her jokes and even started texting her occasionally. “Hey Bethany, saw this and thought of you,” I messaged, attaching a funny meme.
A man on his phone | Source: Pexels
I wanted her to think she was winning me over, and it didn’t take long before she started flirting back. “You’re so sweet, Jake. Maybe we should hang out more often,” she replied.
I played along, acting like I was falling for her charm.
Over the next few weeks, I ramped it up. I sent Bethany sweet messages, and when we were out with friends, I made sure to give her extra attention.
Two people flirting at a dinner table | Source: Pexels
“Bethany, you always have the best stories,” I said one evening, laughing at one of her anecdotes.
She beamed, clearly enjoying the spotlight. “You think so, Jake? I guess I do have a knack for it.”
Meanwhile, Meg had no idea what was going on; I didn’t want to hurt her by revealing Bethany’s cruel words just yet. She’d ask me, “How’s Bethany doing? She seems so happy lately.”
I’d smile and say, “Yeah, she’s been in a good mood. Must be all the attention from everyone.”
Eventually, Bethany couldn’t resist and suggested we meet up alone. She thought she had me wrapped around her finger.
A woman texting while at a restaurant | Source: Pexels
“Hey Jake, how about we grab coffee sometime? Just the two of us,” she texted one day.
I agreed, knowing this was the perfect time to drop the bombshell. “Sure, Bethany. How about Friday at that little coffee shop downtown?” I replied.
When we met, she was all smiles and flirty. “Hey Jake,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Of course, Bethany. I’ve been looking forward to it,” I said, giving her a charming smile.
Two people having coffee | Source: Pexels
During our coffee date, I acted even more interested, letting her believe she was winning me over. “You know, Bethany, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately,” I said, leaning in slightly.
She blushed, clearly pleased. “Oh really? What have you been thinking?” she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
“Just how great you are. How fun it is to be around you,” I replied, watching her soak up the compliments.
As the weeks went by, Bethany started dropping hints about a future together. “Jake, you deserve someone who can give you everything you want,” she said one day.
Two people having coffee | Source: Pexels
I knew it was time to escalate things. I invited her to dinner at a fancy restaurant under the guise of discussing our “relationship” further. “Bethany, let’s have a special dinner. I want to talk about us,” I said, my voice serious.
She arrived dressed to the nines, clearly expecting a big moment. “Jake, you look amazing,” she said, her eyes wide with anticipation.
As we sat down, I began my routine of complimenting her. “You look stunning tonight, Bethany,” I said.
“Thank you, Jake,” she replied.
A woman smiling while out with someone | Source: Pexels
Then, just as she seemed to be basking in her triumph, I dropped the bombshell. “Bethany, do you remember that night at the restaurant when you said those things about Meg? About her being pathetic and sterile?” I asked, leaning in closer.
Her face went pale. “What are you talking about, Jake?”
“I heard everything you said,” I continued. “You mocked my wife, the woman I love, behind her back. You thought I’d fall for your manipulative, arrogant act? You’re wrong. I would never trade Meg for someone as cruel and hypocritical as you.”
A woman looking confused while at dinner | Source: Pexels
Bethany’s expression turned from shock to anger. “You played me?”
“Damn right, I did,” I said, leaning back with a smirk. “And now, everyone will know the real you. You’ll never see Meg again. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You… you’re a monster!” she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury.
“No, Bethany. You are,” I replied calmly. “And now, you’ll face the consequences of your actions.”
A woman crying | Source: Pexels
Bethany stormed out of the restaurant, humiliated and furious.
I returned home to Meg, who had been in on the plan from the beginning. “How did it go?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
“Better than I expected,” I replied, pulling her into a hug. “She’s not going to bother us anymore.”
We had a long talk about what happened, and it brought us even closer. But it hurt that my wife had faced this kind of betrayal.
A couple hugging | Source: Pexels
“I’m so sorry you had to go through this, Meg,” I said, holding her close.
“It’s not your fault, Jake. I’m just glad we handled it together,” she replied, smiling up at me.
The fallout was satisfying. Bethany tried to salvage her reputation, but word spread quickly about what she had said and done. She lost many friends, and her social circle shrank dramatically. “She got what she deserved,” Meg said one day, a note of satisfaction in her voice.
A couple hugging each other | Source: Pexels
“Yes, she did,” I agreed. “And we’re stronger than ever because of it.”
Meg and I continued our journey together, stronger than ever. We knew that no matter what challenges we faced, we could overcome them together. The lesson here? Don’t mess with the people I love. Karma has a way of catching up with you, especially when you least expect it.
A couple hugging | Source: Pexels
Thanks for reading, everyone. Stay strong, stand up for your loved ones, and never let anyone get away with cruelty.
If you thought this a cold-severed revenge plan, you would not believe what Megan did after she found out her soon-to-be husband was cheating on her with her best friend! As if it could not get any worse, she was invited to their wedding, but she had a plan to ruin their happy day.
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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