I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage.
Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things easily. One week it was woodworking. The next, intermittent fasting. Then cryptocurrency. He was the kind of man who believed every confident voice on the internet had unlocked the secret to life.
But none of those phases had ever threatened us.
Until he met Steve.
Steve didn’t just talk. He declared. Loudly. Confidently. Like every opinion he had was carved into stone somewhere. He was the type of guy who leaned back in his chair, smirked, and spoke as if the world was lucky to hear him.
He was also perpetually single.
Which, apparently, didn’t stop him from becoming Jake’s personal marriage guru.
At first, it was harmless.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household.”
Or:
“Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d laugh it off.
But slowly… something changed.
Jake stopped saying we.
He started saying you should.
He’d glance at the sink if there were dishes. Raise an eyebrow if I ordered takeout. Let out small sighs that he thought I didn’t notice.
Each sigh was like a tiny crack forming in something that used to feel unbreakable.
I told myself I was imagining it.
Until the night he brought home The List.
He didn’t even look nervous. That’s what unsettled me the most.
He walked in, loosened his tie, and sat across from me at the kitchen table like he was about to present quarterly earnings.
“Lisa,” he said gently. “I’ve been thinking.”
Those four words made my stomach tighten.
He unfolded a piece of paper with deliberate care and slid it toward me.
“I love you,” he said. “You’re a great wife. But there’s room for improvement.”
Improvement.
The word echoed in my head like a slap.
I looked down.
At the top, in bold letters, were the words:
Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife
My hands went cold.
It was a schedule.
Not suggestions. Not ideas.
Instructions.
Wake up at 5:00 a.m. — Prepare fresh breakfast
6:00 a.m. — Gym to maintain physical fitness
7:30 a.m. — Shower, makeup, dress presentably
Evening — Cook homemade dinner
Night — Prepare snacks when guests visit
Every hour of my life… accounted for.
Every moment… assigned value.
Every piece of me… redesigned.
Based on Steve.
A man who couldn’t keep a girlfriend longer than a month.
Jake watched me carefully.
“This will be great for us,” he said softly.
For us.
I felt something inside me shift. Something fragile.
Something important.
I could have screamed.
I could have cried.
I could have thrown the paper in his face.
Instead…
I smiled.
“You’re right,” I said sweetly. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief that washed over his face was almost heartbreaking.
He had no idea what he’d just done.
Or what I was about to do.
The next morning, I studied the list again.
Every line of it.
Every demand.
Every assumption.
If Jake wanted structure…
I would give him structure.
I opened my laptop.
Created a new document.
And titled it:
Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then I began.
If I woke at 5 a.m. daily, I’d need professional support to maintain that level of performance.
$1,200 — Personal trainer
If he wanted gourmet meals, we’d need premium groceries.
$700/month — Organic food budget
If I was to maintain the house perfectly, something had to give.
My career.
I paused.
This part wasn’t funny anymore.
It was real.
$75,000/year — Compensation to replace Lisa’s salary
My chest tightened as I typed it.
Was this what he wanted?
To turn me into something smaller?
Quieter?
More convenient?
I kept going.
$50,000 — Renovation for separate entertainment space
By the time I finished, it wasn’t just a list.
It was a mirror.
One that showed exactly what his expectations were worth.
I printed it.
And waited.
That evening, Jake came home humming.
Carefree.
Happy.
Oblivious.
“Hey, babe,” he said.
Then he saw the paper.
“What’s this?”
“Oh,” I said lightly. “Just your list.”
He smiled.
At first.
Then he started reading.
And I watched the exact moment everything changed.
His smile faltered.
His eyes slowed.
His breathing shifted.
“$75,000?” he whispered.
He looked up at me like he didn’t recognize me.
“You’re quitting your job?”
I tilted my head.
“How else can I follow your plan perfectly?”
Silence fell between us.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
“This isn’t funny,” he said weakly.
“I know.”
His hands trembled slightly as he flipped pages.
The total at the bottom stared back at him.
Six figures.
A life he couldn’t afford.
A wife he didn’t understand.
“I didn’t mean it like this,” he whispered.
And for the first time since Steve entered our lives…
Jake looked small.
Not weak.
Human.
“I just thought…” he trailed off.
“That I needed fixing?” I asked quietly.
His face broke.
“No.”
But he couldn’t say more.
Because deep down…
He knew that was exactly what he’d done.
“I wasn’t trying to fix you,” he said finally.
He swallowed.
“I was trying to impress him.”
That hurt more than the list.
More than the schedule.
More than anything.
He hadn’t been choosing what was right.
He’d been choosing what made him feel strong.
Even if it meant making me feel small.
“I forgot,” he said hoarsely, “that you’re my partner. Not my project.”
The room was so quiet I could hear his breathing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
And this time…
I believed him.
Not because of the words.
But because he picked up his own list.
And tore it first.
Not mine.
His.
The sound of paper ripping echoed between us like something breaking loose.
We stood there together.
Not fixed.
Not perfect.
But real again.
Later that night, as we lay in bed, Jake reached for my hand.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
Because the most dangerous thing Steve had given him wasn’t the list.
It was the idea that love needed control.
And the most powerful thing I had given him in return…
Was the truth.
Love doesn’t come with instructions.
And the moment you try to redesign the person beside you…
You risk losing them forever.
