My Husband Said I Wasn’t ‘Good Enough’ and Hired A Woman To Train Me – He Never Expected the Lesson I Had for Him

Over the next few weeks, I gave Chad exactly what he wanted: the perfect housewife. Every morning, I was up early, making his breakfast, scrubbing the house until it gleamed, and cooking fancy dinners that looked like they belonged on a cooking show.

I even dressed up every evening, greeting him at the door with a smile that didn’t reach my heart.

But I was cold as stone. I didn’t nag or complain, but I also didn’t connect. No chats about my day, no warm touches, no shared laughs. I was the image of domestic perfection, but it was all an act. It didn’t take long for Chad to sense something was wrong.

“Hey, babe,” he said one evening, lingering at the kitchen door while I prepared a three-course meal. “You’ve been really quiet. Everything okay?”

I barely glanced up, keeping my tone polite but distant. “I’m fine, Chad. Just busy with the house, like you wanted.”

His brow creased. “You don’t have to be… this intense. I mean, it’s great, but it’s like you’re here but not really here.”

I shrugged, setting the table with precision. “I’m just doing what you asked, Chad.”

He nodded, but I could see the confusion in his eyes. This was what he wanted, right? A spotless house, perfect meals, perfect wife. But I wasn’t giving him my usual warmth, and it was getting under his skin.

As the days went on, I kept up the performance. Every task was flawless, but our relationship? It was as cold and mechanical as a robot’s routine. I knew Chad felt the gap growing, but he didn’t know how to bridge it. And I wasn’t going to help him.

Then came the day I’d been building toward. After a perfectly silent dinner, I cleared the plates and turned to him with a bright smile. “Chad, we need to talk.”

He looked up, a nervous twitch in his smile. “What’s up?”

I sat across from him, sliding a neatly folded piece of paper across the table. “I’ve been thinking about this ‘perfect housewife’ thing. Sara really showed me how much work it takes to run a house like this. It’s a full-time job.”

Chad frowned, unsure where this was headed. “Okay?”

“So, I’ve decided,” I said cheerfully. “I’m going to quit my job and focus on this full-time.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re quitting your job?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yep! You wanted the house spotless, meals cooked from scratch, everything perfect. To do that, I need to focus completely. But here’s the thing—I can’t do it for free.”

He blinked, puzzled. “What do you mean ‘for free’?”

I pushed the paper toward him. It was a contract I’d typed up, listing my new terms.

“If I’m giving up my career, I deserve a salary. Jamie doesn’t work, and Craig supports her. So, I’ll need you to pay me. This is what I think is fair.”

He stared at me, his face shifting from confused to outraged. “You want me to pay you? April, that’s ridiculous!”

I kept my tone sweet, but my words were sharp. “Oh, it makes perfect sense. You wanted a perfect wife, and I’ve been delivering. But perfection has a price, Chad. If you expect me to keep up this level of work, I need compensation. If you’re not willing to pay, that’s fine. I’ll just stop.”

He gaped, his face going pale. “I never asked you to quit your job! I didn’t want this.”

I leaned back, arms crossed, savoring the moment. “Oh, but you did, Chad. You wanted a house like Jamie’s, meals like hers, and a wife who poured everything into domestic life. I’m just giving you what you asked for. But I have my own standards, and if you want this level of effort, it comes with a cost.”

A long, tense silence hung between us. Chad clutched the contract, staring at the steep salary. I could see the wheels turning as he realized he’d backed himself into a corner. Continue reading…