You think you’re entering a dream when you marry the person you love. But that dream can quickly become a nightmare when you receive a list of rules about how to be a “good wife.” This is where my revenge started.
As a child, I always imagined that marriage would be different. I pictured Sunday mornings in bed, sharing laughs and secrets, and a partnership based on love and respect. But reality has a strange way of surprising you.
Dan and I had just gotten married. The wedding was perfect—small, intimate, everything I had always dreamed of. For a while, it felt like a fairy tale. Dan was kind and funny, and I truly believed we shared the same ideas about how we wanted to live our lives together. That was until Karen, his mother, gave me a gift after the ceremony.
I remember standing in our living room, still feeling happy from the wedding, when Karen came up to me with her “special” present.
“This is for you, Lucia. A little something to help you as you start your new role.” She handed me a fancy box with a big smile, but her eyes didn’t match her cheerful expression.
Inside the box was a neatly folded piece of paper. When I opened it, my mouth dropped. At the top, in bold letters, it said: “How to Be a Good Wife for My Son.”
At first, I laughed, thinking it was a joke. Maybe Karen was making fun of those old-fashioned ideas about marriage.
But as I kept reading, my smile faded. It was a real list—actual rules I was supposed to follow as Dan’s wife.
I looked at Dan, hoping he’d be as shocked as I was, but he was busy opening his own gift. A check. A big one, too. And me? I got a rulebook.
Later that evening, Dan came to me with a sheepish grin. “You got the rules my mom gave you, didn’t you?” he asked, as if it were just a casual suggestion, not a guide for a life of serving him.
“Yep… I did,” I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice but not succeeding.
Dan shifted awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, you know, that’s just how it is now. Marriage is different from dating.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to smile, to say it was all a joke. But he didn’t.
“Wait… You’re serious?” I asked, looking at him like I didn’t recognize the man I had just married.
He shrugged. “It’s just how things are. Mom says it’s important to keep order, you know?”
I bit my lip, holding back a sharp reply. Keep order. That’s how they saw me now?
After Dan fell asleep, I read through the list again, my hands shaking with anger. I couldn’t believe the nerve.
At 6 a.m., I had to be fully dressed and made up, cooking a hot breakfast for Dan. No veggies, no milk, no butter—he only likes plain eggs and toast. The toast must be perfectly golden brown, and it has to be served on a blue plate because the green one ruins his appetite.
Do all the grocery shopping myself. Dan hates shopping, and it’s no place for a man. Always buy his favorite beer, but not too much—just enough for football nights, but not so much he gets lazy. And I had to carry everything in myself because it’s unladylike to ask for help.
After dinner, the kitchen had to be spotless before Dan even left the dining room. Men shouldn’t see a mess; they must enter a clean space. And always stack the plates by size, wiping the counters twice because Dan hates crumbs.
Dress conservatively when Dan’s friends come over. We don’t want them thinking I’m too “modern” or that I’m not the “right kind of wife.” A good wife never wears anything above the knee, and the neckline should always be high. Anything else would embarrass Dan in front of his buddies.
Make sure Dan never does his laundry. A good wife always has fresh, ironed clothes ready, and socks folded just right—three folds, not two—because that’s how Dan likes them. He should never have to pick out mismatched socks or wear a wrinkled shirt. It reflects poorly on me if he does.
By the time I finished reading, I was furious. This wasn’t just outdated advice; it was a full-on expectation that I cater to Dan’s every wish like I had no other purpose.
And the worst part? Dan was okay with it. He hadn’t even reacted when I mentioned the rules.
I felt trapped, but I wasn’t going to let them get away with this. If they wanted to play this game, I’d play along, but on my terms.
The morning after I read Karen’s list, I woke up at 6 a.m., just like the rules said. I got out of bed, put on my makeup, and slipped into a nice dress.
I looked at myself in the mirror, quietly laughing at how silly this all was. But if Karen wanted me to play this part, I would—just with a twist.
I went downstairs and made breakfast, just like the rules said: plain toast and eggs. But I didn’t stop there. I took the tiniest slice of toast and a plain boiled egg and put them on Dan’s huge blue plate. The plate was so big that the small meal looked ridiculous.
I carefully set it on the table, smiling sweetly as Dan walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
He looked at the plate, confused. “Isn’t there… anything else?”
I shook my head, smiling brightly. “Just following the rules. Plain eggs and toast! Want me to make another slice?”
Dan sighed, picking up the toast. “No… this is fine.”
I stood there watching him eat the driest breakfast ever, trying not to laugh. Oh, this was going to be entertaining.
Later that afternoon, I made a big show of going to the grocery store. I took my reusable bags and left the house, making sure Dan saw me go by myself, just like the rules said.
When I got back, I carried in all the bags myself, even the heavy ones. Dan watched from the couch, clearly uncomfortable but saying nothing. As I unpacked, he frowned.
“Where’s the beer? Did you forget it?” he asked.
“Oh no, I didn’t forget,” I said cheerfully. “I just didn’t want you getting lazy. Besides, sparkling water is good for you!”
I pulled out a six-pack of sparkling water, a big bottle of green juice, and some quinoa, knowing he wouldn’t touch any of them. Dan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. I could see he was starting to realize something was off, but I was just getting started.
After dinner, I followed the other rules in the letter. I wiped down the counters, washed the dishes, and cleaned the kitchen—but not really.
Instead of putting everything back where it belonged, I rearranged the whole kitchen. Plates went in the bathroom cupboard, utensils in the laundry room, and the toaster? I put that in the hall closet.
Dan came into the kitchen, looking around in confusion. “Why is everything all over the place?”
I turned to him with a worried look. “I’m doing my best! Maybe I need to wipe the counters three times instead of two?”
He blinked at me, totally confused, but he let it go. The fun was just beginning.
When Dan’s friends came over for football night a few days later, I made sure to follow Karen’s rule about dressing modestly. I dug through my closet and found the most old-fashioned outfit I could: a long skirt, high-collared blouse, and a buttoned-up cardigan that looked like something from the 1800s.
As soon as Dan’s friends arrived, I walked into the living room with a tray of snacks. His friends looked me up and down, confused but polite enough not to say anything.
Dan pulled me aside as soon as he could, whispering, “You know you don’t have to dress like that, right?”
I widened my eyes innocently. “But your mom said I have to dress modestly. We wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea about me, would we?”
Dan’s friends exchanged awkward glances, but I kept smiling sweetly. The look on Dan’s face was priceless; he was starting to see that I was flipping this whole “good wife” idea upside down, and he was stuck going along with it.
Laundry day came, and I followed the rules again, but with a twist. I washed all of Dan’s clothes together: whites, darks, colors—everything went in one load. When I pulled them out, his once-clean shirts were now a lovely shade of pink, and his socks were either shrunk or mismatched.
Dan opened his drawer the next morning, pulling out one wrinkled pink shirt after another. “What happened to my clothes? These socks don’t even match!”
I walked in with an apologetic look. “Oh no! I must’ve messed up. I’ll try folding them in threes next time, just like the rules say.”
He groaned, putting on his mismatched socks before heading to work, completely defeated. I couldn’t help but smile.
By the end of the week, Dan had had enough. He was trying to eat yet another bland breakfast when Karen arrived, her usual smile on her face. She sat at the table, looking pleased.
“Lucia, I’m so glad to see you following the rules! Isn’t life easier now?”
I laughed quietly. “Oh, Karen, you have no idea.”
Dan slammed his fork down, surprising both of us. “Mom, we need to talk.”
Karen blinked, confused. “Talk about what?”
“These rules… they’re crazy,” Dan said, his voice rising. “I’m miserable, Lucia’s miserable, and this isn’t how we’re going to live.”
Karen looked shocked. “But, Dan, I just want to make sure you’re taken care of! I thought this was how marriage should be!”
Dan shot me a glance, and I shrugged. I was just following the rules, right?
“We need to find our own way,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re my wife, not my maid.”
Karen’s face fell, her smile fading. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t mean to upset you both…”
But it was too late. The damage was done. We spent the next few days talking about what we wanted our marriage to look like, finally finding a balance between his mom’s outdated ideas and our modern life.
The change didn’t happen overnight, but eventually, we found a way to laugh about the whole ordeal, especially when Dan had to explain to his mom why he was now making breakfast for me on Saturdays.
Karen never brought up the rules again, and I made sure to return the fancy box she gave me, filled with the crumpled paper and an assortment of mismatched socks. I told her I didn’t need them anymore.
Looking back, I can’t help but think that her gift, while ridiculous, actually brought us closer together. Dan and I learned how to communicate better, and we established what we wanted from our marriage without anyone else’s rules getting in the way.
I Accidentally Discovered My Mom Was Secretly Working as a Taxi Driver – Her Reason Left Me in Tears
I always thought I knew everything about my mom. At 65, she was the rock of our family, but all that changed the night I unknowingly hopped into the back seat of a taxi she was driving.
It was one of those moments that makes you question everything.
Seeing her behind the wheel, wearing a driver’s cap like she’d been doing it for years, threw me for a loop. I had no idea what was coming next, but I knew one thing for sure.
I. Needed. Answers.
A man sitting in a car | Source: Midjourney
Life was going well for me.
At 35, I had a stable job, good friends, and a comfortable apartment in the city. My mom, Ellen, lived nearby, and we talked regularly. Everything in my world felt predictable until that night.
It was a Tuesday, and my coworker Jake and I had just wrapped up dinner at a local diner. We’d both had a long day at work and were joking around as we waited outside for the taxi he’d called.
A man standing outdoors at night | Source: Midjourney
“Man, I can’t wait to crash on my couch,” Jake said, rubbing his neck. “Today was brutal.”
“No kidding,” I replied.
My car had been acting up for weeks, so I was grateful Jake had ordered the ride. The cold night air nipped at my face, and I was more focused on warming my hands in my pockets than paying attention to the taxi that pulled up to the curb.
A taxi sign | Source: Pexels
Jake opened the back door, and we slid in, still chuckling about our boss’s terrible attempt at a motivational speech that afternoon. The car smelled faintly of lavender, and I noticed a knitted cushion on the driver’s seat.
For some reason, it felt oddly familiar, but I didn’t think much about it.
Feeling tired, I leaned back and glanced at the rearview mirror. That’s when my eyes met the driver’s eyes, and I immediately recognized them.
The eyes staring back at me weren’t a stranger’s. They were my mom’s.
A woman adjusting the rear-view mirror | Source: Pexels
“Mom?” I blurted out, my voice louder than I intended.
Jake snapped his head toward me. “Wait… what? That’s your mom?”
I nodded, but my mind was a whirlwind of questions.
My mom? Driving a taxi? Since when?
Mom’s eyes darted between the road and the rearview mirror. After a few awkward seconds, she let out a nervous laugh.
“Well,” she began. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”
A woman driving a taxi | Source: Midjourney
The cat’s out of the bag? I thought.
“What the heck is going on, Mom? Why are you driving a taxi?” I blurted out.
Jake, ever the observant one, gave me a nudge.
“Hey, man,” he said. “If you need some privacy, I can hop out and catch another ride.”
I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s fine.”
Turning back to my mom, I asked again, more softly this time, “Mom… what’s going on?”
A man sitting in a taxi | Source: Midjourney
She sighed, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “It’s not what you think, Samuel. I wasn’t planning on you finding out like this.”
“Well, here we are,” I said, my voice rising again. “How long has this been going on? And why?”
Jake shifted uncomfortably next to me.
“Uh… I’ll just get out here,” he said, already opening the door. “Catch you later, Sam.”
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. I was so distracted that I barely registered his departure.
A man looking at his friend | Source: Midjourney
When he was gone, I moved to the front passenger seat, staring at my mom in disbelief.
“Mom, seriously. You’ve never even owned a car, and now you’re driving a taxi? Start explaining.”
She glanced at me, her face tired but resolute. “Alright. You deserve to know. But Samuel… please don’t get mad.”
I took a deep breath, steadying my thoughts. “I’m not mad. I’m… confused. And worried. You’ve never even driven before, Mom! When did this start? And why?”
Mom started driving again, keeping her eyes on the road.
A person driving a car | Source: Pexels
“I’ve been learning to drive for a few months now,” she said.
“A few months?” I repeated. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry,” she said.
I let out a humorless laugh. “Well, mission failed. I’m worried, Mom. Worrying is basically my full-time job now.”
She glanced at me. “Samuel, listen to me. It’s about Lily.”
I froze, my heart sinking. “Lily? What about her?”
A man in a taxi at night | Source: Midjourney
Lily is my niece, my sister Anna’s 10-year-old daughter. The brightest spark of joy in our family. Smart, curious, always asking a million questions about the world. But she’d been dealt a cruel hand in life.
A year ago, she was diagnosed with a rare terminal illness, and ever since, it has been like a dark cloud hanging over all of us.
“Mom… what about Lily?” I asked again.
“She told me something a few months ago,” Mom said, her voice thick with emotion. “She said she wanted to see the world before it was too late.”
A little girl | Source: Pexels
“What do you mean… see the world?”
“She wants to see cities, oceans, mountains. She wants to feel the sand under her feet and see the stars from the top of a mountain.” Mom’s voice broke slightly, and she took a shaky breath. “But Anna’s drowning in bills, and you… you’ve got your own life to manage. I couldn’t ask either of you for more.”
“So, you decided to drive a taxi?” I asked, the incredulity slipping back into my voice. “Mom, this isn’t safe. You’ve never done anything like this before!”
A worried man looking at his mother | Source: Midjourney
She shook her head. “I know. But what other choice did I have? Lily doesn’t have much time left. I had to do something.”
I leaned back in my seat, rubbing my hands over my face.
“Mom, you’re 65. Why not just tell me? We could’ve figured something out together.”
She shook her head. “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. I didn’t want you to give up your savings or worry about this. This was something I needed to do.”
A woman driving a car | Source: Midjourney
I sighed.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked. “You’re going to save up enough money and… what? Take Lily on a road trip?”
“Exactly,” Mom nodded. “A road trip. Just me, Anna, and Lily. We’d see the ocean, the Grand Canyon, the mountains. Wherever she wants to go.”
I shook my head, still trying to process everything. “And you were going to do all of this… alone?”
“I was going to try,” she said quietly. “For Lily.”
An older woman in a car | Source: Midjourney
I sat in silence for a moment, the weight of her words settling in. My mom, who had never driven a day in her life, was learning to drive at 65.
She was ready to do everything to make her granddaughter’s dream come true.
The next morning, I called Anna.
“Hey, we need to talk,” I told her.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.
“It’s about Lily… and Mom.”
I explained everything, from the taxi driving to the road trip plan. There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Anna finally spoke, her voice trembling.
“She did all of this for Lily?”
A woman talking to her brother on the phone | Source: Pexels
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But we’re not letting her do it alone.”
By the end of that week, we had a plan in place.
We rented a small RV. It wasn’t fancy, but it had everything we needed for a road trip.
Mom would drive, but I’d be there to help navigate. Anna arranged her work schedule, and we told Lily we had a surprise for her.
When we sat Lily down to tell her, her eyes sparkled with excitement.
“A trip?” she asked. “Like, a real trip?”
A little girl smiling | Source: Pexels
“Yes, sweetheart,” Mom said, pulling her into a hug. “We’re going to see the ocean, the mountains, and everything you’ve ever wanted to see!”
“I get to see the ocean?” Lily asked with a smile. “Oh, wow!”
“Yes,” I said, smiling at her. “We’re going to see it all.”
The trip was everything we’d hoped for.
We watched Lily’s eyes widen in awe as she gazed out at the Grand Canyon, her laughter echoing across the vast landscape.
A shot of the Grand Canyon | Source: Pexels
We stood on a beach in California, her little feet sinking into the sand as the waves lapped at her ankles. She chased seagulls, built sandcastles, and marveled at the endless stretch of water before her.
One night, we found ourselves camping in the mountains, the sky above us filled with stars. Lily lay between Mom and me, her eyes scanning the constellations.
“Grandma,” she whispered, “I think this is my favorite night.”
Mom smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Lily’s face. “Mine too, my love.”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
On our final night, we sat around a campfire. The flames crackled softly, and the scent of toasted marshmallows filled the air.
Lily hugged Mom tightly, her small arms wrapped around her neck.
“Thank you, Grandma,” she whispered. “This is the best Christmas ever.”
Mom’s eyes glistened with tears as she held her. “Anything for you, my love.”
When we returned home, things felt different. Lily’s condition began to worsen, and we all knew what was coming.
A hospital room | Source: Pexels
But she carried those precious memories of the ocean, the stars, and the best night of her life, and it made all the difference.
The day we said goodbye to her was the hardest of my life. But as heartbreaking as it was, I knew one thing for certain. My mom was a hero.
Sometimes, heroes don’t wear capes. They don’t need to. They just need a little courage, a lot of love, and, in my mom’s case, a taxi driver’s license.
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: Claire thought her whirlwind romance was the start of her happily ever after—until an overheard conversation between her mother and her husband, James. Betrayed by the two people she trusted most, Claire embarks on a journey to uncover their motives and reclaim her life.
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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