My Husband Refused to Buy a New Washing Machine and Told Me to Wash Everything by Hand — Because He Promised His Mom a Vacation Instead

Six months postpartum, drowning in baby laundry, and exhausted beyond words, I thought my husband would understand when our washing machine broke. But instead of helping, he shrugged and said, “Just wash everything by hand—people did it for centuries.”

I never thought I’d spend this much time doing laundry.

A tired woman in a chair | Source: Pexels

A tired woman in a chair | Source: Pexels

Six months ago, I gave birth to our first baby. Since then, my life had turned into a never-ending cycle of feeding, changing diapers, cleaning, cooking, and washing. So much washing. Babies go through more clothes in a day than an entire football team.

On a good day, I washed at least eight pounds of tiny onesies, burp cloths, blankets, and bibs. On a bad day? Let’s just say I stopped counting.

A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels

A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels

So when the washing machine broke, I knew I was in trouble.

I had just pulled out a soaking pile of clothes when it sputtered, let out a sad grinding noise, and died. I pressed the buttons. Nothing. I unplugged it, plugged it back in. Nothing.

My heart sank.

When Billy got home from work, I wasted no time.

A tired puzzled woman | Source: Pexels

A tired puzzled woman | Source: Pexels

“The washing machine is dead,” I said as soon as he stepped through the door. “We need a new one.”

Billy barely looked up from his phone. “Huh?”

“I said the washing machine broke. We need to replace it. Soon.”

He nodded absently, kicked off his shoes, and scrolled through his screen. “Yeah. Not this month.”

A man on his phone in his living room | Source: Pexels

A man on his phone in his living room | Source: Pexels

I blinked. “What?”

“Not this month,” he repeated. “Maybe next month when I get my salary. Three weeks.”

I felt my stomach twist. “Billy, I can’t go three weeks without a washing machine. The baby’s clothes need to be cleaned properly every day.”

A couple having a serious talk | Source: Pexels

A couple having a serious talk | Source: Pexels

Billy sighed like I was asking for something unreasonable. He put his phone down and stretched his arms over his head. “Look, I already promised to pay for my mom’s vacation this month. She really deserves it.”

I stared at him. “Your mom’s vacation?”

“Yeah. She’s been babysitting for us. I thought it’d be nice to do something for her.”

Babysitting?

A shocked woman | Source: Pexels

A shocked woman | Source: Pexels

I swallowed hard. His mother came over once a month. She sat on the couch, watched TV, ate the dinner I cooked, and took a nap while the baby slept. That wasn’t babysitting. That was visiting.

Billy kept talking like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “She said she needed a break, so I figured I’d cover her trip. It’s just for a few days.”

A man talking to his wife in his kitchen | Source: Pexels

A man talking to his wife in his kitchen | Source: Pexels

I crossed my arms. “Billy, your mom doesn’t babysit. She comes over, eats, naps, and goes home.”

He frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, really? When was the last time she changed a diaper?”

Billy opened his mouth, then shut it. “That’s not the point.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I think it is.”

A couple arguing in their kitchen | Source: Pexels

A couple arguing in their kitchen | Source: Pexels

He groaned, rubbing his face. “Look, can’t you just wash everything by hand for now? People used to do that for centuries. Nobody died from it.”

I stared at him, feeling my blood boil. Wash everything by hand. Like I wasn’t already drowning in work, exhausted, aching, and running on three hours of sleep a night.

An angry woman clutching her head | Source: Pexels

An angry woman clutching her head | Source: Pexels

I took a slow, deep breath, my hands clenching into fists. I wanted to yell, to scream, to make him understand how unfair this was. But I knew Billy. Arguing wouldn’t change his mind.

I exhaled and looked at the pile of dirty clothes stacked by the door. Fine. If he wanted me to wash everything by hand, then that’s exactly what I’d do.

The first load wasn’t so bad.

A pile of clothes | Source: Pexels

A pile of clothes | Source: Pexels

I filled the bathtub with soapy water, dropped in the baby’s clothes, and started scrubbing. My arms ached, but I told myself it was temporary. Just a few weeks.

By the third load, my back was screaming. My fingers were raw. And I still had towels, bedsheets, and Billy’s work clothes waiting for me.

A tired woman sitting near a bathtub | Source: Midjourney

A tired woman sitting near a bathtub | Source: Midjourney

Every day was the same. Wake up, feed the baby, clean, cook, do laundry by hand, wring it out, hang it up. By the time I was done, my hands were swollen, my shoulders stiff, and my body exhausted.

Billy didn’t notice.

A bored man on a couch | Source: Pexels

A bored man on a couch | Source: Pexels

He came home, kicked off his shoes, ate the dinner I cooked, and stretched out on the couch. I could barely hold a spoon, but he never once asked if I needed help. Never looked at my hands, red and cracked from hours of scrubbing.

One night, after I’d finished washing another pile of clothes, I collapsed onto the couch next to him. I winced as I rubbed my aching fingers.

Billy glanced at me. “What’s wrong with you?”

A tired woman on her couch | Source: Pexels

A tired woman on her couch | Source: Pexels

I stared at him. “What’s wrong with me?”

He shrugged. “You look tired.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just turned back to the TV. That was the moment something snapped inside me.

An annoyed woman in her kitchen | Source: Pexels

An annoyed woman in her kitchen | Source: Pexels

Billy wasn’t going to understand—not unless he felt the inconvenience himself. If he wanted me to live like a 19th-century housewife, then fine. He could live like a caveman.

So I planned my revenge.

The next morning, I packed his lunch as usual. Except instead of the big, hearty meal he expected, I filled his lunchbox with stones. Right on top, I placed a folded note.

A lunchbox filled with rocks | Source: Midjourney

A lunchbox filled with rocks | Source: Midjourney

Then I kissed his cheek and sent him off to work.

And I waited.

At exactly 12:30 PM, Billy stormed through the front door, red-faced and furious.

“What the hell have you done?!” he shouted, slamming his lunchbox onto the counter.

I turned from the sink, wiping my hands on a towel. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

A laughing woman in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A laughing woman in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney

He flipped open the lid, revealing the pile of rocks. He grabbed the note and read it out loud.

“Men used to get food for their families themselves. Go hunt your meal, make fire with stones, and fry it.”

His face twisted in rage. “Are you out of your damn mind, Shirley? I had to open this in front of my coworkers!”

I crossed my arms. “Oh, so public humiliation is bad when it happens to you?”

A shouting man wearing glasses | Source: Pexels

A shouting man wearing glasses | Source: Pexels

Billy clenched his jaw. He looked like he wanted to yell, but for once, he didn’t have a comeback.

I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “Go on, Billy. Tell me how this is different.”

His jaw tightened. “Shirley, this is—this is just childish.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I see. So your suffering is real, but mine is just me being childish?”

An angry woman lecturing her husband | Source: Pexels

An angry woman lecturing her husband | Source: Pexels

He threw his hands in the air. “You could have just talked to me!”

I stepped forward, fire burning in my chest. “Talked to you? I did, Billy. I told you I couldn’t go three weeks without a washing machine. I told you I was exhausted. And you shrugged and told me to do it by hand. Like I was some woman from the 1800s!”

A woman turning away from her husband | Source: Pexels

A woman turning away from her husband | Source: Pexels

His nostrils flared, but I could see the tiny flicker of guilt creeping in. He knew I was right.

I pointed at his lunchbox. “You thought I’d just take it, huh? That I’d wash and scrub and break my back while you sat on that couch every night without a care in the world?”

Billy looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

A sad man clutching his head | Source: Pexels

A sad man clutching his head | Source: Pexels

I shook my head. “I’m not a servant, Billy. And I’m sure as hell not your mother.”

Silence. Then, finally, he muttered, “I get it.”

“Do you?” I asked.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. I do.”

A tired man rubbing his temples | Source: Pexels

A tired man rubbing his temples | Source: Pexels

I watched him for a long moment, letting his words settle. Then I turned back to the sink. “Good,” I said, rinsing off my hands. “Because I meant it, Billy. If you ever put your mother’s vacation over my basic needs again, you’d better learn how to start a fire with those rocks.”

Billy sulked for the rest of the evening.

An angry man in a hoodie | Source: Pexels

An angry man in a hoodie | Source: Pexels

He barely touched his dinner. He didn’t turn on the TV. He sat on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed him. Every now and then, he sighed loudly, like I was supposed to feel bad for him.

I didn’t.

For once, he was the one uncomfortable. He was the one who had to sit with the weight of his own choices. And I was perfectly fine letting him stew in it.

A woman reading a book on a couch | Source: Pexels

A woman reading a book on a couch | Source: Pexels

The next morning, something strange happened.

Billy’s alarm went off earlier than usual. Instead of hitting snooze five times, he actually got up. He got dressed quickly and left without a word.

I didn’t ask where he was going. I just waited.

That evening, when he came home, I heard it before I saw it—the unmistakable sound of a large box being dragged through the doorway.

A large box in the doorway | Source: Midjourney

A large box in the doorway | Source: Midjourney

I turned around and there it was. A brand-new washing machine.

Billy didn’t say anything. He just set it up, plugging in hoses, checking the settings. No complaints. No excuses. Just quiet determination.

When he finished, he finally looked up. His face was sheepish, his voice low.

“I get it now.”

A sorry man covering his face | Source: Pexels

A sorry man covering his face | Source: Pexels

I watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… should’ve listened to you sooner.”

“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. “You should have.”

He swallowed, nodded again, then grabbed his phone and walked away without argument or justification. Just acceptance. And honestly? That was enough.

A satisfied smiling woman | Source: Pexels

A satisfied smiling woman | Source: Pexels

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

When I Got Home Early from Work, My Husband Offered to Give Me a Foot Massage – It Felt Suspicious, and I Was Right

I got home early, and Greg greeted me with an unusual smile and an offer to massage my feet—something he’d never done before. I wanted to believe it was kindness, but a faint click from the bathroom told me the truth: my husband was hiding a devastating secret.

It all started six years ago. I was 29, fresh out of a long-term relationship, and feeling like I’d never find someone again.

A sad young woman deep in thought | Source: Pexels

A sad young woman deep in thought | Source: Pexels

Then, one evening, Greg walked into my life. I was sitting at a bar, nursing a glass of wine after work, when he strolled over with that confident, easy smile of his.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the stool beside me.

He was tall, handsome, and had a twinkle in his eye. He was the kind of guy who seemed like he had the whole world figured out. I smiled shyly and nodded.

A man in a bar | Source: Pexels

A man in a bar | Source: Pexels

He sat down and immediately started talking. “You look like you’ve had a long day. Let me guess—accountant?”

I laughed. “Close. Marketing.”

“Ah, I knew it. You’ve got that creative, problem-solving vibe,” he said, grinning.

From that moment, I was hooked. Greg had a way of making me feel seen, like I was the most interesting person in the room. We started dating, and within a year, we were married.

A woman leaning against a man who's smiling while working on his laptop | Source: Pexels

A woman leaning against a man who’s smiling while working on his laptop | Source: Pexels

At first, it was perfect. He was funny, charming, and affectionate. He made me feel like I could do anything. I thought he brought out the best in me.

But as time went on, little things started to bother me. Greg didn’t want kids. He said it wasn’t the right time, but I knew deep down he’d never change his mind. It broke my heart because I had always dreamed of a big family.

A sad woman with her back turned to a distraught man | Source: Pexels

A sad woman with her back turned to a distraught man | Source: Pexels

And then there was his tendency to prioritize everyone else over me. His brother needed help moving? Greg was there. His friends wanted to hang out? He’d cancel our plans without a second thought. I told myself it was just who he was, but it hurt.

Over the years, our marriage settled into something… quiet. Too quiet. The spark that had once been there was gone. We were more like roommates than a couple.

A woman talking to her husband in the corridor | Source: Pexels

A woman talking to her husband in the corridor | Source: Pexels

That evening, I got home early from work for the first time in weeks. I was exhausted after back-to-back meetings and just wanted to kick off my heels and relax.

When I walked in, Greg was waiting for me by the door. He had this huge grin on his face, the kind that made his dimples show.

“Long day?” he asked, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

“Yeah,” I said, dropping my bag on the console table. “Exhausting.”

A tired woman | Source: Pexels

A tired woman | Source: Pexels

“Perfect,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll give you a foot massage.”

I blinked. Greg? Offering a foot massage? He usually groaned when I asked him to hand me the remote.

“Are you serious?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he said, guiding me to the couch. “You deserve to be pampered.”

A couple kissing at home | Source: Pexels

A couple kissing at home | Source: Pexels

Too tired to argue, I let him slip off my shoes. His hands were surprisingly gentle as they worked on my aching feet.

“This is… nice,” I said hesitantly.

He laughed, a little too loudly. “Can’t a guy spoil his wife without it being suspicious?”

I forced a smile but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. This wasn’t Greg. At least, not the Greg I’d been living with for the past few years.

A serious woman sitting in her living room | Source: Midjourney

A serious woman sitting in her living room | Source: Midjourney

Then, I heard a faint click coming from down the hall.

I sat up straight. “Did you hear that? Like the bathroom door…”

Greg laughed nervously. “Must be the pipes. You know how this old house is.”

My stomach tightened. “Greg, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” he said, his voice pitching higher than usual. “You’re just tired. Sit down, relax…”

A nervous man in his living room | Source: Midjourney

A nervous man in his living room | Source: Midjourney

Ignoring him, I got up and walked toward the bathroom.

“Wait!” he called after me, panic creeping into his voice. “Where are you going?”

The hallway felt longer than usual as I made my way toward the bathroom. My pulse pounded in my ears, each step making my unease grow.

A woman walking along a corridor | Source: Midjourney

A woman walking along a corridor | Source: Midjourney

When I flung the bathroom door open, the air hit me first. It was warm and humid, like someone had just stepped out of the shower. The mirror was slightly fogged.

My heart pounded as I scanned the room. That’s when I saw it: a tube of crimson lipstick lying on the counter.

I picked it up, holding it in front of him as he approached hesitantly. “Whose is this?”

Greg’s face turned pale. “Uh… it’s yours?”

An angry woman holding her lipstick | Source: Midjourney

An angry woman holding her lipstick | Source: Midjourney

“Don’t insult me,” I snapped. “You know I don’t wear this color.”

Before he could respond, a muffled sneeze came from the bedroom.

My breath caught. I looked at Greg, who was visibly sweating now.

“Care to explain that?” I asked, my voice icy.

A couple arguing in their home | Source: Pexels

A couple arguing in their home | Source: Pexels

He stammered, “It’s nothing. Really. I swear…”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest. With my heart racing, I headed for the bedroom.

Greg scrambled behind me, his voice rang out, desperate. “Wait, don’t!”

Ignoring him, I flung the closet door open.

An angry woman opening her closet | Source: Midjourney

An angry woman opening her closet | Source: Midjourney

A woman crouched there, clutching a pair of high heels to her chest. She looked startled, like a deer caught in headlights. Her hair was mussed, and she was wearing a silk robe that I instantly recognized as mine.

I stared at her, my mind reeling. “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I’d ever heard it.

An angry woman shouting at her husband's mistress | Source: Midjourney

An angry woman shouting at her husband’s mistress | Source: Midjourney

She stood up slowly, her face flushing red. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she said, brushing at the robe like that would somehow make everything better.

Greg stepped into the room, his hands raised like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “Honey, please, let me explain.”

An apologetic man holding his hands up | Source: Freepik

An apologetic man holding his hands up | Source: Freepik

I turned on him, the fury rising in my chest. “Explain? Explain what, Greg? That there’s a strange woman hiding in our bedroom? Wearing my robe?” I gestured to the woman, who was now fidgeting awkwardly.

“Listen, I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” the woman said weakly.

A shocked woman sitting in bed | Source: Midjourney

A shocked woman sitting in bed | Source: Midjourney

“Find out what?” I snapped, my voice shaking. “That my husband is a lying cheat? That he brings his little girlfriend here when I’m at work? Don’t try to defend him!”

“Babe, please, don’t do this,” Greg begged, stepping closer to me.

“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,'” I hissed, stepping back. “You think you can sweet-talk your way out of this? Pack your things and go. Now. Both of you.”

An angry woman in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

An angry woman in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

The woman looked at Greg, wide-eyed. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be home.”

My stomach churned at her words, but I refused to let the tears fall. I turned back to Greg. “Get her out of my house. And don’t bother coming back.”

Greg held his hands up in surrender. “Just give me a chance to explain—”

“Leave!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.

A woman shouting in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

A woman shouting in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

The woman grabbed her shoes and scurried out of the room. Greg hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening as if to argue. But when he saw the look on my face, he seemed to think better of it.

He left without another word, following her out the front door.

I stood in the middle of the bedroom, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. For a moment, I felt numb. But then something shifted.

A sad woman in the middle of her living room | Source: Midjourney

A sad woman in the middle of her living room | Source: Midjourney

This was my house. My life. And I wasn’t going to let Greg taint it any longer.

I grabbed a box from the garage and started packing his things. His clothes, his toiletries, even the stupid coffee mug he loved went into the box. I worked quickly, methodically, not letting myself dwell on the memories tied to each item.

As I was finishing up, I called my brother. “Can you come over?” I asked, my voice steady but tired.

A tired woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels

A tired woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “What’s going on?”

“Greg’s gone,” I said simply.

My brother arrived half an hour later, his presence a welcome relief. He didn’t ask many questions, just hugged me and helped me carry Greg’s belongings to the front door.

By the time Greg returned the next night, I was ready.

A nervous man standing on a porch | Source: Midjourney

A nervous man standing on a porch | Source: Midjourney

He walked in, looking sheepish and hopeful. “Can we talk?” he asked softly.

I pointed to the pile of his belongings by the door. “No, Greg. We’re done.”

“Please, just hear me out—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I said firmly. “Take your things and go.”

An angry woman standing in her doorway | Source: Midjourney

An angry woman standing in her doorway | Source: Midjourney

He stood there for a moment, as if he thought I might change my mind. When I didn’t, he sighed, grabbed his things, and walked out the door for the last time.

The next day, I filed for divorce. It felt strange, almost surreal, but also like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Divorce papers on the table | Source: Pexels

Divorce papers on the table | Source: Pexels

Over the next few months, I started to reclaim my life. I redecorated the house, filling it with things that made me happy. I spent time with friends and family, people who reminded me of who I was before Greg came along.

It wasn’t easy. There were moments when I felt angry, hurt, and lonely. But each day, I felt a little lighter. A little freer.

A woman looking out of her window | Source: Pexels

A woman looking out of her window | Source: Pexels

One evening, as I sat in my newly redecorated living room, I looked around and realized something: I was happy. Truly happy.

Greg’s betrayal had been painful, but it had also been a wake-up call. I had spent so much time trying to make our marriage work that I’d forgotten my own worth. Now, I was finally putting myself first.

A tired woman in her office | Source: Pexels

A tired woman in her office | Source: Pexels

As I closed the chapter on my marriage, I felt hopeful for the future. Whatever came next, I knew I was strong enough to face it.

Liked this story? Consider checking out this one: When a charming stranger knocked on my door, mistaking me for the cleaning lady, I decided to play along. But what began as an amusing misunderstanding quickly unraveled into a shocking revelation.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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