You imagine marriage as the beginning of a dream: an exciting new chapter with the love of your life.
But for me, that dream quickly turned into a nightmare when I was handed a list of rules on how to be a “good wife.”
—
And that’s when my journey toward revenge began.
Growing up, I always believed marriage was about partnership, love, and respect.
I pictured Sunday mornings in bed, laughing over shared secrets, creating a life built on mutual understanding.
But life has a funny way of shattering those fantasies.
Dan and I had just gotten married.
The wedding was perfect: small, intimate, and everything I had imagined.
For a while, it felt like a fairy tale.
Dan was kind, funny, and supportive, and I truly believed we were aligned on how we wanted to live our lives.
That was until his mother, Karen, gave me a “special gift” after the ceremony.
I remember sitting in the living room, still glowing from the wedding, when Karen approached me, her smile tight.
“This is for you, Lucia. A little something to guide you in your new role,” she said, handing me a decorated box.
Inside was a carefully folded piece of paper.
At the top, in bold letters, were the words: *How to Be a Good Wife to My Son*.
At first, I thought it was a joke.
Maybe Karen was poking fun at old stereotypes.
But as I read through the list, my smile faded.
It was a detailed guide on how I was expected to behave as Dan’s wife.
I glanced at Dan, hoping he was as horrified as I was.
But he was busy opening his gift: a large check from Karen.
Me? I got a book of rules.
Later that evening, Dan casually brought up the rules.
“You saw the list, right? It’s just how marriage should work.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to tell me it was all ridiculous.
But he didn’t.
“Wait, are you serious?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.
He shrugged.
“It’s just what Mom thinks is important. Marriage is different from dating.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I bit my tongue, holding back the retorts boiling up inside me.
Was this really what Dan expected from me now?
That night, while Dan slept, I reread the list, my anger growing with every line.
The rules weren’t just outdated—they were downright humiliating.
Some of the points included:
– *Wake up at 6 AM, fully dressed and made up, and prepare a hot breakfast for Dan. Remember: no vegetables, no butter, only eggs and toast on a blue plate because the green one ruins his appetite.*
– *Grocery shopping is your responsibility. A man shouldn’t be bothered with such chores.*
– *Carry the bags yourself: it’s unfeminine to ask for help.*
– *After dinner, ensure the kitchen is spotless before Dan leaves the dining room. No mess should be visible to him.*
– *Always dress conservatively when Dan’s friends are over. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression.*
By the time I finished reading, I was furious.
But instead of confronting Dan, I decided to play the game my way.
The next morning, I followed the first rule.
I got up at 6 AM, put on makeup, and made Dan breakfast.
But I didn’t stop there.
I took the smallest piece of toast and the blandest, unseasoned egg I could find and placed them on the largest blue plate we had.
When Dan walked into the kitchen, he looked confused.
“Isn’t there something else?” he asked.
I smiled sweetly.
“I’m just following the rules! Do you want me to make another slice?”
He sighed, clearly dissatisfied, but said nothing.
Later that day, I went grocery shopping, dragging the bags all by myself.
When Dan asked where his beer was, I smiled and replied, “Oh, I didn’t want you to get lazy. I bought sparkling water instead. Much healthier!”
I could tell Dan was starting to sense something was off, but I wasn’t done yet.
When his friends came over for a football night, I dressed according to Karen’s rules: modestly, but in the most old-fashioned outfit I could find.
I looked like I was ready to teach Sunday school in the 1800s.
Dan pulled me aside, whispering, “You know you don’t have to dress like that, right?”
“But your mother said I should dress modestly around your friends,” I replied, feigning innocence.
Laundry day came, and I had a blast.
I washed all of Dan’s clothes together: whites, darks, everything.
His crisp white shirts came out pink, and his socks were either mismatched or shrunk.
When he complained, I shrugged.
“I’ll fold them in thirds next time, just like the rules say.”
By the end of the week, Dan was clearly exasperated, and when Karen came over, things finally exploded.
“Lucia’s been doing a great job following the rules!” Karen beamed.
“Isn’t life easier now?”
Dan slammed his fork on the table.
“Mom, these rules are ridiculous! This isn’t how we want to live.”
Karen looked shocked.
“But Dan, I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”
“No, Mom,” Dan said firmly.
“Lucia isn’t my servant, and I don’t need a rulebook for our marriage. We’ll figure out how to live together, without these outdated ideas.”
Karen was stunned, but she finally understood.
I handed her back the decorated box with a note inside that read: *Thanks, but no thanks.*
When Karen left, Dan hugged me, looking apologetic.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stand up sooner.”
I smiled, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders.
“Better late than never.”
And so, we began building our marriage our way—free from rules, lists, and outdated expectations that had no place in our lives.