The List That Started My Revenge
When you marry the love of your life, you expect a dream. You imagine love, laughter, and a home full of warmth. But for me, that dream quickly turned into a nightmare — and that’s where my revenge story began.
Growing up, I always imagined marriage as something magical. I saw myself waking up on lazy Sunday mornings beside my husband, both of us laughing about nothing and everything, drinking coffee in bed, and sharing secrets. A true partnership — built on love, respect, and equality.
But life, as I soon learned, doesn’t always match the picture you paint in your head.
Dan and I had just gotten married. The wedding was small, beautiful, and perfect — exactly how I’d dreamed. For a while, I thought I was living in a fairy tale. Dan was charming, funny, and thoughtful. I truly believed we were on the same page about everything — our values, our dreams, our future.
But then she stepped in.
Karen — Dan’s mother.
It happened the day after the wedding. We were still glowing with happiness, standing in our cozy living room surrounded by flowers and leftover decorations, when Karen appeared with a proud smile.
“This is for you, Lucia,” she said sweetly, handing me an ornate box. Her smile was wide — too wide — and her eyes didn’t match it. “A little something to help you as you step into your new role.”
I thanked her politely, expecting maybe a family heirloom or some advice written in a loving letter. But when I opened the box, my smile froze.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, perfectly folded. At the top, in bold letters, it read:
“How to Be a Good Wife for My Son.”
At first, I laughed out loud.
I thought it was a joke — maybe a bit of old-fashioned humor from her. “Oh, that’s funny,” I said, chuckling nervously. But as I began to read, my laughter died in my throat.
It wasn’t a joke. It was a list — a real list — of strict, ridiculous rules I was apparently supposed to follow now that I was married to her son.
I looked over at Dan, expecting him to roll his eyes or at least share my disbelief. But he was too busy opening his own wedding gift from his mother — a fat check.
He grinned and said, “Wow, she really went all out.”
Meanwhile, I was standing there holding a list of rules like it was my new job description.
That night, when things calmed down, Dan came over with an awkward look on his face.
“So… you got Mom’s list, huh?” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“YEP,” I replied, trying — and failing — to hide my sarcasm.
He gave me a little shrug. “Well, you know… that’s how it is now. Marriage is different from dating.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. “Wait — you’re serious?”
He didn’t even blink. “It’s just how things are. Mom says it’s important to keep things in order, you know?”
My jaw dropped. Keep things in order? Like I was some housemaid? I felt my stomach twist.
That night, after he fell asleep, I sat on the edge of the bed reading through Karen’s “rules” again — my hands shaking with anger.
Here’s what the list said:
- Wake up at 6 a.m. sharp. Be fully dressed, with makeup done, and have a hot breakfast ready for Dan.
“No veggies, no milk, no butter,” the list said. “He only likes plain eggs and toast. Make sure the toast is golden brown — not too light, not too dark — and serve it on a blue plate because the green one ruins his appetite.” - Do all the grocery shopping yourself. “Dan hates stores,” it said, “and it’s no place for a man.” Always buy his favorite beer — but not too much, “so he doesn’t get lazy.” And, of course, carry all the bags yourself because asking for help “isn’t ladylike.”
- After dinner, make sure the kitchen is spotless before Dan even leaves the dining room. “A man shouldn’t see a mess.” And always stack plates by size and wipe the counters twice because “Dan is sensitive to crumbs.”
- Always dress modestly when his friends visit. “A good wife doesn’t make men uncomfortable. No skirts above the knee. No low necklines.”
- And finally, never let Dan do his own laundry. “A good wife keeps his clothes clean, ironed, and folded in threes. Wrinkled shirts reflect poorly on you.”
By the time I reached the end, I was seething. This wasn’t advice. This was a manual on how to lose your dignity.
But instead of crying, I started to smile.
If they wanted me to be the “perfect wife,” fine — I’d play their game. But I’d do it my way.
The Revenge Begins
The next morning, I got up at 6 a.m. on the dot. I put on my nicest dress, full makeup, and even curled my hair. I looked like I was stepping out of a 1950s magazine.
Then I made breakfast — exactly as the rules said.
Plain eggs. Toast. No butter. No flavor.
I placed a single egg and one tiny slice of toast in the middle of Dan’s huge blue plate. It looked ridiculous — like a kid’s pretend meal.
When Dan came in, rubbing his eyes, he stopped dead.
“Isn’t there… anything else?” he asked.
I smiled sweetly. “Just following the rules, honey. Plain eggs and toast! Want me to make another slice?”
He sighed and forced a smile. “No, this is fine.”
Watching him choke down that dry breakfast was deliciously satisfying.
Later that day, I told him I was going grocery shopping — “like a good wife should.” I made sure he saw me dragging every single bag inside when I got home, panting dramatically but smiling the whole time.
Dan looked uneasy. “You should’ve called me for help,” he said.
“Oh, no,” I replied brightly. “Your mom said it’s unladylike to ask for help. Don’t worry, I got it!”
When he asked, “Where’s the beer?” I grinned and said, “Oh, I didn’t get any. I don’t want you getting lazy. Sparkling water and quinoa are better for you!”
He looked like I’d just insulted his soul. But he said nothing.
That night, I followed more “rules.” I cleaned the kitchen until it sparkled — then I reorganized everything.
Plates went in the bathroom cupboard, forks in the laundry room, and the toaster in the hall closet.
When Dan came in later, he frowned. “Where’s the coffee maker?”
“Oh, silly me!” I said with wide eyes. “Maybe it’s in the laundry room. I’m still learning how to keep things in order!”
Football Night Disaster
A few days later, Dan’s friends came over for football night. Perfect chance to show off my “modesty.”
I wore a long, shapeless skirt, a buttoned-up cardigan, and a blouse with a collar up to my chin. I looked like I was about to teach Bible class.
When I brought snacks to the living room, his friends went silent. One of them coughed awkwardly.
Dan quickly pulled me aside. “You don’t have to dress like that, you know.”
I looked at him innocently. “But your mom said I should dress modestly! We wouldn’t want to give your friends the wrong idea about me, would we?”
His friends glanced at each other, trying not to laugh. Dan just groaned quietly.
Oh, I was enjoying this way too much.
Laundry Mayhem
By laundry day, I was in full revenge mode.
I washed all of Dan’s clothes together — whites, colors, everything. When I pulled them out, his shirts were pink and his socks had shrunk into baby sizes.
“Lucia!” he yelled the next morning, holding up a pink shirt. “What happened to my clothes? These socks don’t even match!”
I gave him a wide-eyed look. “Oh no! I must’ve folded them wrong. Maybe I should try folding them in threes next time, just like your mom said.”
He groaned and walked out the door looking like a pink marshmallow.
The Breaking Point
By the end of the week, Dan was done.
He sat at the table, trying to eat another dry breakfast, when Karen walked in with her usual proud smile.
“Lucia! I’m so glad to see you following the rules,” she said warmly. “Isn’t life easier now?”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, Karen… you have no idea.”
Dan suddenly slammed his fork on the table. “Mom, we need to talk.”
Karen blinked, startled. “About what, dear?”
“These rules,” Dan said, his voice sharp. “They’re ridiculous. I’m miserable, Lucia’s miserable — this isn’t how marriage works.”
Karen frowned. “But I just want to make sure you’re taken care of! I thought this was how things are supposed to be.”
“No, Mom,” Dan said firmly. “It’s not. Lucia isn’t my maid. We’re partners. These rules are outdated and insulting. From now on, we make our own.”
Karen’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She just sat there, shocked.
I stood up, walked to the counter, and picked up the ornate box she’d given me. I slipped a note inside that said:
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
Then I handed it back to her.
Karen looked at the box, then at us, her face pale. She finally stood up and left quietly, her shoulders slumped.
When the door closed behind her, Dan turned to me, his face soft. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve said something sooner.”
I smiled. “Better late than never.”
He wrapped an arm around me. And for the first time since the wedding, it felt like we were finally on the same team.
From that day forward, there were no lists, no rules, and no outdated expectations — just two people learning, loving, and laughing together.
And that’s how my revenge ended — not with shouting, but with freedom.