When I showed up at my sister Lily’s house, I thought it would just be a regular visit. She was nine months pregnant, and I was in town for work, planning to crash at her place for a few days. I had no idea I was about to watch her husband treat her like a maid—and that I’d end up using a watermelon to change everything.
From the second I walked through the door, something felt off. Lily looked exhausted. She moved slowly, her belly big and round, ready to pop any day. Her skin was pale, and dark circles hung under her eyes like smudged makeup. She looked completely worn out.
And there was her husband—let’s just call him Mark—lying on the couch with a gaming controller in one hand and his eyes glued to the TV.
Right then, I knew. That was the reason she looked so drained.
That night, I saw it all with my own eyes. Lily made dinner—nothing fancy, just some pasta, but she clearly put effort into it. And what did Mark do? He took one bite, made a face, and said, “This is cold. I’m eating upstairs.”
He grabbed his plate and disappeared without another word.
I just stood there, stunned. Lily sighed, then quietly cleared the table. I helped her, of course, but she kept going like a machine—loaded the dishwasher, threw in some laundry, and started folding a mountain of baby clothes. And the whole time, Mark stayed upstairs playing video games like a king on his throne.
The next morning over some very burnt toast (poor Lily was too tired to focus), I decided enough was enough. I had to say something.
“Hey Mark,” I started gently, “I’ve noticed Lily’s doing a lot around here. Maybe you could help out? The baby’s coming any day now.”
Mark didn’t even look up from his phone. He laughed. “Isn’t that what women do?”
I clenched my fists under the table. “Well,” I said, trying to stay calm, “maybe just try doing the dishes? Or put the crib together? It’s not rocket science.”
Now he looked at me—annoyed. “You’re being dramatic. Lily likes taking care of me. She’ll enjoy being a mom. Don’t bring your ‘modern ideas’ into my house.”
I nearly threw my coffee at him. But instead, I smiled. That’s when an idea hit me—something ridiculous and perfect.
I leaned back and said, “You know what, Mark? You’re right. Lily does like taking care of you. In fact, I bet you couldn’t last one day doing everything she does.”
His eyebrows went up. “Oh really? And what happens if I prove you wrong?”
I grinned. “If you win, I’ll be your personal assistant forever. But if you lose, you’ve got to start pulling your weight and treat Lily the way she deserves. Deal?”
Mark laughed and stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
He had no clue what he’d just agreed to.
The moment he left for work, I raced to the store, practically skipping through the aisles. I came back with the biggest, roundest watermelon I could find.
Lily raised an eyebrow. “A watermelon?”
“Yep,” I said. “We’re gonna make Mark pregnant.”
She burst out laughing, then helped me cut the watermelon in half, scoop it out (we saved the inside to eat later), and wrap it in plastic. We turned it into a fake belly—huge, heavy, and awkward. We even made a backup, just in case.
“You sure about this?” she asked, half amused, half worried.
“Positive,” I said, taping the last bit of plastic. “It’s time he got a taste of what you go through.”
That evening, when Mark came home, I showed him the watermelon belly and handed him a list. “Here’s everything Lily does in a day,” I said. “Vacuuming, laundry, dishes, cooking, groceries, cleaning the floors, setting up the baby’s room…”
Mark snorted. “This’ll be easy.”
Lily and I sat on the couch with popcorn, ready to watch the show.
At first, Mark strutted around with the watermelon strapped to his stomach like it was a joke. But it didn’t take long before reality hit.
He bent down to pick up a sock—the watermelon swung forward and nearly knocked him over.
He tried vacuuming, but waddled like a penguin with the weight.
At the laundry machine, he couldn’t even close the door because the watermelon kept bumping into it.
Lily and I were crying with laughter.
“Need help?” I asked sweetly.
Mark just growled, “These… feminine chores are harder than I thought.”
By noon, he was soaked in sweat, moving like a grandpa. The watermelon had left a sticky spot on his shirt, and his steps were slow and clumsy.
The best part? Watching him try to paint the baby’s room. He climbed a tiny ladder, wobbling like jelly, arms shaking. It looked like a scene from a comedy movie.
By late afternoon, the once-cocky Mark was crawling on his hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom floor.
I could see it—his pride cracking. He wasn’t just losing a bet. He was realizing something important.
That night, he collapsed on the couch, tore off the watermelon, and groaned, “I can’t do this. I give up!”
The room was quiet. Then Lily stood up, glowing in her final days of pregnancy, and looked down at her husband.
He stared at her, eyes full of emotion. “Lily,” he said, his voice raw, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I never realized how much you do.”
Tears sparkled in Lily’s eyes, but they weren’t sad tears. They were full of hope. She reached out and touched his cheek.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But I’m glad you finally understand.”
That night, as we cleaned up the watermelon mess, I noticed something different—Mark was helping. For the first time, he was really helping.
He did the dishes. He folded laundry. He even finished putting together the baby’s crib—and only swore a little.
From that day on, it was like a switch had flipped. Mark was a new man. He cooked for Lily, rubbed her swollen feet, cleaned the house, and repainted the nursery in a soft, peaceful blue.
When Lily went into labor a few days later, Mark was right there. Holding her hand. Whispering encouragement. Crying when their baby girl was born.
As I packed my bags to leave, Lily hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, “Thank you. You saved our marriage. You gave my daughter a dad she can be proud of.”
I hugged her back, my heart full. I hoped Mark would keep it up. But if not?
Well… there’s always another fruit.
