Felix, a single dad in his mid-30s, was relaxing in his armchair, barely paying attention to the TV in his small, slightly worn living room. The sound of the sitcom couldn’t hide the loneliness he felt since losing his wife in a car crash seven years ago.
Felix found comfort in his job as a janitor and in raising his daughter, Alice. She brought him joy, reminding him of the happy moments he once had with her mother.
One day, Felix noticed his elderly neighbor struggling to cut her overgrown lawn. Wanting to help, he rushed over to mow it for her. Grateful, the woman insisted on giving him a strange, antique box as a thank-you gift.
But that gift quickly led to trouble when Felix received an urgent phone call from the woman’s lawyer, requesting a meeting.
One day, Felix heard a noise outside and glanced out the window. He saw his elderly neighbor, Mrs. White, struggling with her lawnmower. Mrs. White was known for being independent despite her age, but today, she clearly needed help.
Without a second thought, Felix walked over and offered his assistance. “Let me help you with that, Mrs. White,” he said, taking control of the lawnmower. Together, they worked quietly under the warm afternoon sun, finishing the task in no time.
After they finished, Mrs. White smiled warmly and thanked Felix.
“Felix, you’ve always been so kind, helping me without expecting anything in return.”
Felix, ever humble, replied, “It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. White.”
Wanting to show her gratitude, Mrs. White offered him a beautifully decorated box. Felix hesitated, feeling uncomfortable accepting such an expensive-looking gift. “I can’t accept this, Mrs. White,” he said.
Respecting his decision, Mrs. White smiled and handed him a bag of apples instead.
“Then please, at least take these apples for Alice,” she said, gently urging him.
Felix thanked Mrs. White for the apples and headed home. Once inside, he gave the apples to his daughter, Alice, who eagerly accepted them, her eyes lighting up.
“Thank you, Daddy!” she said with excitement.
As Felix settled back into his quiet evening, Alice made an unexpected discovery. She pulled out the same ornate box that Mrs. White had tried to give Felix earlier.
Surprised, she ran over to him, holding the box and exclaiming, “Daddy! Look what was in the bag with the apples!”
The mysterious box in Felix’s hands stirred up curiosity about why Mrs. White had hidden it among the apples. Felix, feeling uneasy, told Alice, “Alice, we can’t keep this. It’s not ours.”
Alice, intrigued, responded, “But Dad, what if there’s something cool inside? Something we need?”
Felix shook his head gently and said, “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t make it ours. This box belongs to someone else, and we need to respect that.”
Accepting her father’s decision, Alice agreed, and Felix set off to return the box to Mrs. White. When he reached her house, a strange, foreboding silence greeted him.
“Mrs. White?” Felix called out, but there was no answer. The stillness of the house felt heavy as he cautiously searched for her. Finally, he found her lying motionless on the couch. It was clear that Mrs. White had quietly passed away.
Felix stood there in shock, the box in his hand, unsure of what to do next.
Shocked and unsure of what to do, Felix stood frozen, the weight of Mrs. White’s death sinking in. He knew he needed to call someone, but he hesitated, glancing between her lifeless body and the mysterious box in his hands.
After a moment of inner conflict, Felix made a decision. He stepped back, leaving the house with the box still in his grasp, now feeling like a heavy, burdensome secret he carried with him.
Back home, the box sat on his table, its presence feeling more ominous with every passing moment.
Curious and anxious, Felix began researching the box online. He typed “antique box gold diamond inserts” into the search bar and quickly found similar items listed for enormous sums of money, with one even valued at $250,000. The discovery shocked him, tempting him with the thought of financial security for Alice. But it also tugged at his conscience, leaving him conflicted about what to do.
Just as Felix was deep in thought, the phone suddenly rang, shattering the silence.
Felix’s heart raced as an unknown voice spoke over the phone, “Good evening, is this Felix? My name is Jonathan Pryce. I am Mrs. White’s attorney. I believe it is imperative for us to discuss a matter of significant concern. Can we arrange a face-to-face meeting?”
Feeling a wave of nervousness, Felix replied, “Sure, we can meet. How about tomorrow?”
“Let’s convene at ‘Café Lorraine’ on the main street at 10 a.m. It’s a quiet place, conducive for such discussions,” Mr. Pryce suggested.
“Okay, I’ll be there,” Felix confirmed, ending the call with his heart pounding. What could this meeting be about? He glanced once more at the mysterious box, unsure of what was coming next.
Felix arrived at ‘Café Lorraine’ and spotted Mrs. White’s lawyer, Jonathan Pryce, seated at a corner table. To his surprise, sitting next to him was a man Felix didn’t recognize.
As he approached, Jonathan introduced the stranger. “This is Henry, Mrs. White’s son.”
Felix was stunned—he had no idea Mrs. White had a family.
Without wasting any time, Henry spoke, his tone sharp and accusatory. “I know you were at my mother’s house yesterday,” he said, glaring at Felix.
Felix quickly defended himself, “I was just helping her out, like I often did.”
Henry’s face hardened. “My mother had an antique box with significant sentimental value to our family. It’s been in our family for generations… and now it’s gone. Things like that don’t just disappear.”
Feeling cornered and uneasy, Felix said nothing, which led Henry to make a proposal.
“Listen, I don’t care how it happened, but I need that box back. I’m willing to pay you a thousand dollars for its return. No questions asked,” Henry offered.
Felix, knowing the box’s true value, shot back, “I’m not an idiot. I know that box is worth a lot more than what you’re offering. And no, I didn’t steal it. Your mother gave it to me willingly.”
Henry was caught off guard as Felix declared, “I’ve decided to auction the box. If it means that much to you, you’re welcome to bid on it, just like anyone else.”
With that, Felix abruptly left the café, feeling both defiant and apprehensive about the unfolding situation.
The following day at the auction, experts gathered around the box, marveling at its craftsmanship. They began questioning Felix about its origins. Under their intense scrutiny, Felix hesitated and stammered, “It was… it was an inheritance,” which only fueled their suspicions.
The situation grew tense as experts demanded proof of ownership for the box. Talk of involving the police began to circulate.
Panicked and unprepared, Felix stammered, “I… I don’t have them with me.”
Feeling the walls closing in, Felix made a desperate decision to escape. He fled the auction house, overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty about the legal trouble he might face.
Back home, Felix was plagued by thoughts of the box and its potential to change their lives. Realizing he needed proof of the box’s legitimacy, he knew he had to return to Mrs. White’s house to find it.
Late that night, Felix sneaked into Mrs. White’s house, frantically searching for any documents that might prove his claim to the box. Despite his desperate efforts, he found nothing.
As his frustration grew, a sudden noise startled him. He turned to see Henry standing in the doorway.
“I knew you’d come,” Henry said, his voice carrying a mix of disappointment and resignation. “After I heard about the auction, I figured you’d show up here looking for something to legitimize your claim to that box.”
Feeling trapped and defenseless, Felix listened as Henry outlined his conditions.
“Felix, you’ve made a grave mistake,” Henry continued, his tone stern. “Breaking and entering is a criminal offense. But I’m willing to overlook it if you do exactly as I say.”
Henry’s terms were harsh but straightforward. “You have until tomorrow. Bring the box to me, or I’ll have no choice but to report this to the police. They’ll be very interested in your little nocturnal visit.”
Feeling defeated and realizing he had no real choice, Felix reluctantly agreed. Henry escorted him out, and Felix returned home, overwhelmed by the seriousness of his predicament.
Felix weighed his limited options: he could either surrender the box to Henry, avoiding legal trouble but forfeiting any potential financial gain, or take a risk that could jeopardize his and Alice’s future.
In his turmoil, Felix decided to send Alice to her grandmother’s house, far from the looming trouble. He packed a bag for her, including the box, as a precaution.
Just then, Alice appeared, noticing her father’s distress. “Dad, what’s going on? You look upset,” she asked with innocent concern.
Felix knew he had to explain everything to Alice. He paced his living room, the gravity of their situation weighing heavily on him.
“Alice,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady, “this box is really important. It’s worth $250,000, and it could change our lives. But I can’t keep it. I need you to take it to Grandma in Virginia.”
Alice, overwhelmed by the news, asked, “But why can’t you come with me, Dad?”
Felix sighed deeply. “I might not be around for a little while, sweetheart. There’s a chance I’ll have to… go away for some time. But I promise it won’t be forever. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you.”
As they packed, Felix reassured Alice of her strength and the importance of their plan. At the bus station, amidst a heartfelt goodbye, he watched her board the bus, feeling a piece of his heart leave with her.
Returning home to the heavy silence of the now-empty house, Felix made a crucial decision.
He picked up the phone and called Henry. “I don’t have the box, Henry. It’s out of my hands,” he said firmly. “I’m ready to turn myself in. You can call the police.”
Soon, the police arrived and took Felix away without resistance. As he was led out, his thoughts were solely focused on Alice’s safety and their future.
Months later, in prison, Felix’s routine was suddenly interrupted by a guard’s commanding voice. “Pack your things and come with me!”
Confused but hopeful, Felix followed the guard, his mind racing with possibilities. When they arrived, he was met with a sight that filled him with immense relief and joy: Alice was waiting for him.
“Dad,” she said, her voice breaking through the gloom of his prison life, her presence instantly lifting his spirits.
Alice explained that she had finally unlocked the box and discovered documents and a letter from Mrs. White. The letter revealed that Mrs. White wanted Felix to inherit the box. With this newfound evidence, Alice managed to secure his release.
“I couldn’t believe it myself, Dad,” Alice said, her eyes shining with determination. “After you sent me away, I kept thinking about the box, about the code… And then, one day, it just clicked!”
Felix was deeply moved by Mrs. White’s final act of kindness and Alice’s unwavering resolve.
“So, I took those papers and found a buyer who collects antiques like this one. They didn’t just buy the box, Dad. They also helped me find a lawyer, explained bail, and how we could fight the case.”
Reunited, Felix and Alice embraced tightly, ready to face their new beginning. “We don’t have to worry anymore,” Alice assured him. “We have enough to start over, but more importantly, we have each other. And we’re going to get through this, one step at a time.”
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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