When my husband, Ethan, came home that Sunday, something felt off. His expression was rehearsed, and when he finally spoke, I was stunned.
He and his mother, Diane, had decided—without me—that I should quit my job.
At first, I laughed, thinking it was a joke. But Ethan was serious. He believed my career didn’t matter, that I should be a housekeeper instead.
Ethan was a mama’s boy, always taking Diane’s outdated advice. She constantly meddled—telling me how to cook, dress, and prioritize “family over career.” I learned to pick my battles, like when she loudly suggested at Thanksgiving that we fire our house cleaner. I turned it around, suggesting Ethan handle deep cleaning instead. The issue died on the spot.
But this time, Diane had gone too far.
Ethan stood stiffly, ready for a fight. “We need to talk,” he said. Then, “Mom and I decided—you should quit your job.”
I laughed. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Mom needs help, and you should be home more. Your job takes too much time.”
Diane chimed in. “A career doesn’t make a woman valuable. Her family does.”
I stared, waiting for the punchline. None came. Then Ethan accused me of cheating, saying my long hours and business trips were suspicious.
Oh. So that’s what they really thought of me.
I smiled sweetly. “You’re absolutely right. I should quit my job.”
Diane beamed. Ethan cheered. They had no idea they’d walked into their own nightmare.
The next morning, I took extended leave. I followed their plan—became Diane’s full-time housekeeper, and cut off my financial support.
At first, they didn’t notice. But soon, reality hit.
Diane’s spa trips? Canceled. High-end groceries? Gone. Ethan’s shopping and weekend getaways? Not happening.
One night, Ethan frowned at his bank statement. “We never had money problems before.”
I smiled. “Oh, that’s because I was the breadwinner.”
Diane paled. “But… we always had enough.”
“Because I was earning. Now? We all have to make sacrifices.”
“This isn’t sustainable,” Ethan muttered.
I shrugged. “Guess you should’ve thought of that before making me quit.”
After a month of their suffering, I stretched at the dinner table. “Good news—I miss working, so I’ll be going back.”
Ethan sighed in relief.
“Oh, and I’ll also be filing for divorce.”
Silence.
Diane gasped. Ethan froze. And I smiled as their world collapsed.