When my husband told me scrubbing toilets was “women’s work,” I knew exactly what to do. What happened next involved his precious Xbox, my cousin’s cleaning skills, and a few words that turned his world upside down. The look on his face was absolutely priceless.
Looking back now, I should have seen the warning signs earlier.
But when you’re in love, you make excuses for the people you care about. That’s exactly what I did with Eric for two whole years of marriage.
Don’t get me wrong, Eric wasn’t a bad husband.
He was actually pretty wonderful in many ways. He remembered my birthday, brought me flowers on random days, and could make me laugh until my sides hurt. During our first year together, I genuinely believed I’d hit the marriage jackpot.
“You’re so lucky,” my friends would tell me. “Eric’s such a catch.”
And he was, in his own way. He worked hard at his job as a software engineer, pulling long hours and bringing home a decent paycheck.
A man working on his laptop | Source: Pexels
He never complained about handling the “outside” stuff like grocery shopping, taking out trash, and dealing with car maintenance. These were his domains, and he handled them without being asked.
But inside our home? That was apparently my territory.
I worked full-time too, managing a small marketing firm downtown. Yet somehow, I was the one scrubbing floors at midnight, doing laundry on weekends, and making sure we had clean dishes for dinner.
A woman washing a plate | Source: Pexels
Eric would come home, grab a beer, and sink into his gaming chair for hours of Call of Duty or whatever new release had caught his attention.
“Babe, you work so hard,” I’d tell him when guilt tried to creep in. “You deserve to relax.”
He’d flash me that boyish grin that made me fall for him in the first place. “Thanks for understanding, Alice. You’re the best wife a guy could ask for.”
So I kept cleaning. I kept cooking. I kept pretending that love meant doing everything myself while he leveled up his video game characters.
A man holding a controller | Source: Pexels
Looking back, I realize I was enabling him. But at the time, it felt like being supportive.
Everything shifted when I saw those two pink lines on the pregnancy test.
My hands were shaking as I stared at the little plastic stick in our bathroom. We’d been trying for months, and suddenly, there it was… concrete proof that we were going to be parents.
“Eric!” I called out, practically bouncing on my toes. “Can you come here for a second?”
A positive pregnancy test | Source: Pexels
He paused his game and jogged to the bathroom. “What’s wrong? You sound weird.”
I held up the test, grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. “We’re having a baby.”
The transformation on his face was instant.
A man | Source: Midjourney
His eyes went wide, then crinkled at the corners as the biggest smile I’d ever seen spread across his features.
“Are you serious?” He swept me into his arms. “We’re really doing this? We’re going to be parents?”
“We’re really doing this,” I confirmed, laughing through happy tears.
Eric had always been great with kids. My sister’s twins adored him, and he’d spend entire family gatherings building blanket forts and teaching them card tricks. Seeing his excitement about our baby made my heart feel like it might burst with happiness.
A baby holding a man’s finger | Source: Pexels
Over the next several months, Eric proved he could step up when it mattered.
He drove me to every doctor’s appointment, assembled the crib without a single curse word, and spent hours researching baby monitors and car seats. He’d come home with tiny outfits he couldn’t resist buying.
“Look how small these shoes are,” he’d marvel. “Our baby’s feet are going to fit in these.”
Baby shoes | Source: Pexels
He painted the nursery a soft yellow since we wanted to be surprised about the gender. He installed blackout curtains and a nightlight that projected stars on the ceiling.
When I had morning sickness so bad I couldn’t keep anything down, he brought me crackers and ginger tea in bed.
For those nine months, I felt like we were truly partners. Eric was attentive, caring, and involved in every aspect of preparing for our child. I thought having a baby would bring out the best in both of us.
I had no idea how wrong I was about to be.
A close-up shot of a woman’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
Our daughter Emma arrived on a Wednesday morning after 12 hours of labor. The moment they placed her tiny, wrinkled body on my chest, I understood what people meant when they talked about instant, overwhelming love. Eric stood beside the hospital bed with tears streaming down his face, gently stroking Emma’s dark hair.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Look at those little fingers. Alice, we made this beautiful person.”
A baby | Source: Pexels
Those first few days were a blur of diaper changes, feeding schedules, and very little sleep. But Eric surprised me.
He took two weeks off work and threw himself into daddy duties with the same enthusiasm he’d shown during pregnancy. He changed diapers without complaint, walked the halls with Emma when she was fussy, and even figured out how to swaddle her better than I could.
“You’re a natural,” I told him one night as he rocked Emma back to sleep after a 3 a.m. feeding.
“I want to be the best dad possible,” he replied softly. “She deserves that.”
A man sitting in his bedroom | Source: Midjourney
For those first two weeks, we were a team.
We took turns getting up with Emma, shared the cooking duties, and Eric even helped with laundry. I started to believe that parenthood had changed him, and that having Emma would make him more responsible about everything.
But then he went back to work, and things changed.
A man working on his laptop | Source: Pexels
The change wasn’t immediate.
For the first month, Eric still helped with Emma’s care when he got home. He’d feed her dinner, give her baths, and read her bedtime stories even though she was too young to understand. But the household chores? Those slowly started sliding back to me.
“You’re home all day anyway,” he’d say when I mentioned the overflowing laundry basket. “I’m exhausted from work.”
Laundry baskets | Source: Pexels
By six weeks postpartum, I was doing everything again. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, and taking care of a newborn around the clock.
Eric would come home, play with Emma for 20 minutes, then disappear into his gaming setup for the rest of the evening.
“I need to decompress,” he’d explain. “Work is really stressful right now.”
An upset man | Source: Pexels
Meanwhile, I was running on three hours of sleep, covered in spit-up, and wondering when I’d last had a chance to shower. But I told myself this was temporary. Maternity leave would end eventually, and we’d figure out a better balance.
Then I got sick.
It started as a scratchy throat on Thursday, but by Saturday morning, I was burning up with fever and could barely stand. Emma had been fussy all night, and I’d been up with her since 2 a.m. My body ached, my head pounded, and I felt like I might collapse.
A person taking a pill | Source: Pexels
“Eric,” I called weakly from the couch where I was trying to feed Emma. “I need help. I’m really sick.”
He looked up from his phone, frowning. “What kind of help?”
“Could you please clean the bathroom? I was supposed to do it yesterday, but I feel awful. And maybe take over with Emma for a few hours so I can rest?”
Eric’s face immediately scrunched up in disgust. “Gross. That’s your job. It’s women’s work. I’m not scrubbing toilets.”
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
I stared at him. “What did you just say?”
“Come on, Alice. You know I don’t do that stuff. It’s disgusting. You’re better at it anyway.”
Let me get this straight, I thought. Using the bathroom like a frat boy? Totally fine. Cleaning it when your wife is sick and exhausted? Too disgusting.
That’s when I made the call that would change everything.
A woman using her phone | Source: Pexels
“Stacey?” I said into the phone after Eric had gone into the bedroom. “I need a favor. A big one.”
My cousin Stacey had been working as a professional housekeeper for eight years. She was good at her job and owed me a favor. Last year, I’d helped her through a nasty divorce by letting her stay in our guest room for three months and lending her money for a lawyer.
A close-up shot of $100 bills | Source: Pexels
“What’s going on, honey?” Stacey’s voice was full of concern. “You sound terrible.”
“I am terrible. And I need you to come and clean my house on Monday morning. I’ll pay your full rate, plus a bonus.”
“Of course! But Alice, you don’t usually ask for help. Is everything okay?”
“Let’s just say I’m about to teach my husband a very expensive lesson.”
Monday morning, Stacey arrived at 9 a.m. with her supplies and her usual bright smile. “Where do you want me to start?”
Cleaning supplies in a bucket | Source: Pexels
“The bathroom,” I said firmly. “Make it absolutely spotless.”
While she worked, I packed a small overnight bag for Emma and myself.
Three hours later, our house was spotless. I paid Stacey in cash, plus a generous tip, and hugged her goodbye.
“Thanks for this,” I told her. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Anytime, cousin. But I have a feeling there’s more to this story.”
“There definitely is. I’ll call you later.”
Eric came home around 6 p.m., probably expecting dinner to be ready.
A serving of lasagna | Source: Pexels
Instead, he found me sitting on the couch with Emma, both of us dressed to go out.
His eyes widened as he looked around the house.
“Wow!” he said. “You finally cleaned. This place looks amazing.”
“Nope,” I smiled. “I hired someone. I figured since you don’t like touching toilets, I’d use your Xbox to pay for it.”
“You what?”
“Your Xbox. I sold it online this morning. Got $800 for it, which covered Stacey’s rate perfectly. You weren’t using it anyway. You were too busy explaining how toilet cleaning is women’s work.”
An Xbox console | Source: Pexels
“Alice, you can’t just sell my stuff!” he protested. “That’s not fair!”
“Actually, I can, and it’s fair. You said household chores are my job, so I can spend household money however I need to get them done. Right?”
He was completely speechless, staring at the spot where his gaming setup used to be.
I kissed Emma’s forehead and stood up, grabbing our overnight bag. “We’re going to stay at my mom’s for two days. Meanwhile, you can enjoy your squeaky-clean kingdom and think about what you said. Oh, and Eric? Stacey didn’t do the laundry. That’s still your job now.”
The look on his face as I walked out the door was absolutely priceless.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
When I returned after two days, the house was clean, the laundry was folded, and Eric was waiting with an apology and a promise to do better. The arrogance was gone, and so was the entitled bubble he’d been living in.
Sometimes, you need to sell a thing or two to teach your husband a lesson.
