Husband Routinely Ridicules Jobless Wife for Being Idle, Discovers a Note Following Her Ambulance Departure

A man ridicules his unemployed wife, only to come home one day to find her gone. In her search, he discovers a note revealing she intends to divorce him. Can he stop her from doing so and save their marriage?

It was a bright, cold October morning, and Harry was excited about his gaming app presentation, a project he had poured himself into for the past six months.

As the clock struck eight, Harry entered the dining room, preoccupied with his phone, barely acknowledging his wife, Sara, and their sons, Cody and Sonny.

“Morning, honey,” greeted Sara.

“Good morning, Daddy,” the boys chimed in unison.

Ignoring them, Harry grabbed a toast and rushed back to his room.

“Sara, where’s my white shirt?” Harry’s voice boomed from the room.

“It’s in the wash with the other whites,” Sara replied.

Harry stormed into the dining room. “That’s my lucky shirt! I needed it for today!”

“I didn’t have enough whites for a full load until now. You have other white shirts!!”

“This is a big day for me, and you’re making excuses?” Harry retorted.

“You’re overreacting, Harry. Your presentation is what matters. It’s just a shirt. So stop barking, alright?”

“Oh really? I’m barking? You wanna do this now?”

“Do what, Harry? You’re making a scene for a stupid little thing. And nobody would be interested in what color shirt you’re wearing when all eyes would be fixed on your goddamn presentation.”

“A goddamn presentation? Come again…Did you just say that? Do you have any idea how I’ve been busting my butt off day and night for that project?”

“Watch your words. The kids….”

“You sit at home all day doing nothing,” Harry blurted out. “Is it too hard to remember one simple thing? All you do is Blah Blah Blah and NOTHING at home.”

“Harry, stop this. The kids are watching. You’re scaring them.”

“Oh really? And nobody watches you when you’re on the goddamn phone gossiping all the time with your friends. Nobody watches that, huh, Sara? You can never be a good wife if you can’t do even a simple thing for me!”

Harry dressed up in a random suit and stormed out of the house, grabbing his briefcase.

After a successful presentation and bagging the promotion, Harry anticipated an apology call from Sara – something she always did after their fights. But this time, there were no calls.

Thinking he would win her apology anyway, he returned home with white roses but found the apartment empty. A note from Sara on the table read, “I want a divorce.”

Confused and worried, Harry called Sara’s sister, Zara, who informed him that Sara was in the hospital. Harry rushed to the hospital, only to face an angry Zara. “You told her she was not ‘wife’ enough for you?”

“Look, we’ll talk about this later, alright?”

Harry rushed to meet the doctor. “Doctor, is my wife alright? Can I see her?”

“It was a mild attack. She’s out of danger. But she needs to take care of her health now. Go ahead and only ten minutes coz she needs to rest.”

Harry shakily walked into the ward, trying to force a smile as he approached Sara.

“Honey, I’m sorry. Please, let me explain. I—”

“I don’t wanna hear anything. I’m done. Divorce is the only thing I want.”

“Wha-What? Why…You’re taking it too far, alright?”

“I had ambitions, plans… I chose you over every opportunity, and it ruined my life,” she said. “It’s too late for your

“Honey, please. We can work this together,” he pleaded.

“No, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be fake to myself. To you. And to the kids. I’m 32, but I feel like a crone. I just hate you, Harry. You’re so disgusting.”

“What about the kids, Sara?”

“I’m in a tough spot to provide for them…So they’re staying with you.”

Harry spoke no more and stormed out of the hospital to pick up his kids from Zara’s house.

At home, he ordered pizza and ice cream for dinner. After tucking the kids into bed, he called his friend Alex, who suggested that Sara might have just cracked up and would be home soon.

The next morning, Harry’s kids awoke him, and as soon as he looked at his watch, he knew he was late! In the morning chaos, Harry burnt the French toast and his shirt while juggling the kids’ school preparations.

“Oh, no, the toast,” he exclaimed, rushing to salvage the breakfast.

“Daddy…Daddy, what’s happening?” the kids asked amidst the chaos.

“It’s just the smoke alarm. Don’t worry,” Harry reassured them, but things only got worse.

He had an important meeting, and he was getting late. “I’ll quickly get ready, and let’s grab something nice to eat on the way to school, yeah?”

He dropped the kids off at school and arrived late at the meeting. “Sorry! Traffic, you know….”

When he returned home in the evening, Harry found signs of Sara’s absence more evident. Her belongings were gone. “Did she leave me for real?” he wondered, overwhelmed.

“Daddy, what happened to Mommy’s pictures and her things?” the boys asked.

Harry, clueless, called Zara.

“Is this some kind of a joke, Zara? Your sister came here. Took all her things. And left me? With the kids?”

Zara coldly informed him, “She’d told you, hadn’t she, Harry? You took my sister for granted.” And then the line went blank.

Five months went by without Sara. Harry struggled to balance work and parenting, and his work performance declined.

One day, his boss, Mr. Adams, invited him for a beer. At the pub, Mr. Adams brought up Harry’s recent work issues.

“Harry, we’ve noticed you’ve been missing deadlines and coming in late. And we’re a business…If you know what I mean,” Mr. Adams said.

Harry, trying to lighten the mood, joked, “So, you plan to let your best game developer go?”

Mr. Adams was also Harry’s friend, and Harry could’ve never prepared himself for what happened next.

“I’m afraid, yes,” Mr. Adams replied seriously. “It’s out of my hands. I’ll give you good recommendations.”

“What? Please, don’t do this! I need this job for my kids.”

Mr. Adams remained silent, leading Harry to storm out in frustration. As he walked away, his phone rang. It was Sara.

“Sara?” Harry said, surprised.

“Harry, can we meet for a quick chat at five? At the café where we first…?” Sara asked.

At a café, Sara met with Harry to discuss their children. She revealed she had been in therapy and now wanted custody.

“Custody?? How dare you? After you left us?” Harry fumed.

“Harry, I’m their mother. I have rights,” Sara insisted.

“You abandoned them, and now you want to take them away? They’re used to me now,” Harry argued.

Sara was determined. “I deserve to have them back. I’ll see you in court.”

Days later, Harry, now adept at managing household chores and balancing a new freelance gig, prepared breakfast for his sons.

“Daddy loves you,” he kissed them goodbye and dropped them at school before heading to the custody trial.

“Mr. Wills, can you please tell us about your attention to your family while you lived together with my client, Miss Sara?” Sara’s lawyer asked Harry.

“Well, I did my best to provide for my family. I worked long hours. Overtime sometimes. I kept myself busy because I wanted to make sure they had everything they needed,” Harry said.

“That’s what most responsible family guys do, right?! And what about your wife’s ambitions? Did she want to build her own career?”

“Before we had our kids…Yes, she did want to work. But after that, she stayed home to look after the kids and the household.”

“Well, looking after the kids…the family…cooking, cleaning. So basically, your wife has been your cook. Your children’s nanny. Your wellwisher. And did you insult her, saying she did nothing at home?”

“I did. Yes, it was an outburst. I was late for office and—”

“Mr. Wills, were you fired from your job? Why were you fired exactly?”

“Objection, Your Honor. This is utterly irrelevant and immaterial to the case,” Harry’s lawyer rose.

“Objection overruled.”

“Thank you, Your Honor!” added Sara’s lawyer. “Mr. Wills, why were you fired from your job?”

After a momentous pause, Harry looked into Sara’s teary eyes and opened up. “Because I couldn’t balance my work and parental duties. I tried, but it was too much. But I didn’t give up. I would never give up on my kids. I love them.”

“Mr. Wills, how are you managing now? How do you intend to support your kids…without a job?”

“I have a job. I can support them well.”

“Be specific, Mr. Wills. What job and what’s the salary?”

“It…It’s a part-time freelance gig. I’m a video editor.”

“Mr. Wills, I admire your confidence despite your climbing down the career ladder! I’m sure you make nothing much like you used to in your previous job, right?” the lawyer added ironically. “A freelance job. Low salary. And raising two kids in today’s recession. Well…That’s all, Your Honor.”

Sara was then called up to the box as Harry’s heart started pounding.

“Ms. Sara, can you please tell us about your life with your husband…I mean, soon-to-be ex-husband?” Harry’s lawyer asked. “Did he ever refuse to give you money or care for you in any way?”

“No…Not at all. He was always generous with our finances. We never had any issues with money.”

“Did Mr. Wills ever raise his hands on you or the kids? Has he ever come home drunk and misbehaved at home?”

“No, he never laid a hand on us. My husband. Sorry. Mr. Wills has never come home drunk.”

“Your husband has taken care of you. You even agreed on that. He’s never laid his hands on you. Then why did you leave him and the kids?”

“I had a nervous breakdown. He was always busy. He would come home and sit with his laptop, barely asking me if I was sick…happy…or sad. I tried to cope. But I couldn’t do it anymore and left. I didn’t want my kids to struggle with me as I wasn’t emotionally stable at that time.”

Harry slowly started to break on the inside, and those words hit him like a bag of bricks.

“Ms. Sara, where were you these six months? What were you doing, and how will you care for the kids?”

“I was in Chicago at a friend’s place. I wanted to be away from everything and everyone for a while. Then I moved back to Boston…got a job as an interior designer.”

“What’s the guarantee you won’t have another breakdown and won’t abandon the kids again?” the lawyer broke Sara’s silence.

“Objection, Your Honor. This is baseless and….” Sara’s lawyer chimed in. “My client, Ms. Sara, has come for the children’s custody. Why would she leave them again?”

“Order…Order.”

“I won’t do it ever again. My children are my world. I’ll be there for them and never let anything like that happen again.”

And two hours later, the verdict was announced, and Sara was granted custody of the kids.

“….Mr. Wills, you’ll have the right to visit your children and take them with you two days a week. You’re required to pay $860 as support to your children every month. This case is now closed.”

Soon, the day arrived when the kids would go with Sara. She arrived, sad to separate the kids from their father but happy to have them back. As she was leaving with her two sons, her elder one stopped her.

“You’re just tearing us apart,” spoke Cody as he let go of Sara’s hand and bolted to Harry.

“We want both Mommy and Daddy!” added Sonny.

This was it. Sara could no longer hold herself back. She bolted in their direction and hugged them.

I Returned Home to Discover My Kids Asleep in the Hallway — The Transformation My Husband Made to Their Bedroom in My Absence Drove Me Wild

After a week away, I came home to the strange and unsettling sight of my kids sleeping on the cold hallway floor. Heart pounding, I searched for answers, only to find my husband missing and odd noises coming from the kids’ room. What I uncovered next left me furious — and ready for a fight!

I’d been away on a business trip for a week, and let me tell you, I was itching to get home. My boys, Tommy and Alex, were probably bouncing off the walls waiting for me.

I mean, a week is practically forever when you’re 6 and 8. And Mark? Well, I figured he’d be glad to hand the reins back to me. He’s a great dad, don’t get me wrong, but he’s always been more of the fun parent than the responsible one.

As I pulled into our driveway at midnight, I couldn’t help but grin. The house was dark and quiet, just as it should be at this ungodly hour.

I grabbed my suitcase and tiptoed to the front door, keys jingling softly in my hand.

The lock clicked open, and I stepped inside, ready to collapse into bed. But something was… wrong.

My foot hit something soft, and I froze. Heart pounding, I fumbled for the light switch. When the hall lit up, I almost screamed.

Tommy and Alex were sprawled out on the floor, tangled up in blankets like a couple of puppies. They were fast asleep, but their faces were smudged with dirt, and their hair was sticking up in all directions.

“What the hell?” I whispered, my mind racing. Had there been a fire? A gas leak? Why weren’t they in their beds?

I crept past them, afraid to wake them up until I knew what was going on. The living room was a disaster zone, littered with pizza boxes, soda cans, and what looked suspiciously like melted ice cream on the coffee table. But no sign of Mark.

My heart was doing the cha-cha in my chest as I made my way to our bedroom. Empty.

The bed was still made, like it hadn’t been slept in today. Mark’s car was in the driveway, so where was he?

That’s when I heard it. A faint, muffled sound coming from the boys’ room. I tiptoed over, my imagination running wild. Was Mark hurt? Had some psycho broken in and tied him up?

I pushed the door open, inch by inch, and…

“What. The. Actual—” I bit my tongue, remembering the kids were just down the hall.

There was Mark, headphones on, controller in hand, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and snack wrappers. But that wasn’t even the craziest part.

The boys’ room had been transformed into some kind of gamer paradise. A massive TV took up one wall, there were LED lights everywhere, and I’m pretty sure that monstrosity in the corner was a mini-fridge.

I stood there, mouth hanging open, as the rage built up inside me like a volcano about to blow. Mark hadn’t even noticed me yet, too engrossed in whatever game he was playing.

I stomped over and yanked the headphones off his head. “Mark! What the hell is going on?”

He blinked at me, looking dazed. “Oh, hey babe. You’re home early.”

“Early? It’s midnight! Why are our children sleeping on the floor?”

He shrugged, reaching for his controller again. “Oh, it’s fine. The boys were happy sleeping outside. They thought it was an adventure.”

I snatched the controller away. “An adventure? They’re not camping, Mark! They’re sleeping on our dirty hallway floor!”

“Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill,” he said, trying to grab the controller back. “Everything’s under control. I’ve been feeding them and stuff.”

“Feeding them? You mean the pizza boxes and ice cream in the living room?” I could feel my blood pressure rising with every word. “And what about baths? Or, I don’t know, their actual beds?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “They’re fine, Sarah. Lighten up a bit.”

That’s when I lost it.

“Lighten up? LIGHTEN UP? Our children are sleeping on the floor like animals while you play video games in their room! What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he huffed. “I’m just trying to have a little me-time. Is that so terrible?”

I took a deep breath, trying not to scream. “You know what? We’re not doing this right now. Go put the boys in their beds. Now.”

“But I’m in the middle of—”

“NOW, Mark!”

He grumbled but got up, shuffling past me.

I watched him pick up Tommy, who stirred a little but didn’t wake up. As Mark carried him to bed, I couldn’t help but think how alike they looked: one actual child and the man acting like one.

I scooped up Alex, my heart breaking a little at how dirty his face was. As I tucked him into bed, I made a decision. If Mark wanted to act like a child, then that’s exactly how I’d treat him.

The next morning, I put my plan into action.

While Mark was in the shower, I snuck into the man cave he’d created and unplugged everything. Then I got to work.

When he came downstairs, hair still wet, I was waiting for him with a big smile. “Good morning, sweetie! I made you breakfast!”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Uh, thanks?”

I set a plate in front of him. In the middle was a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake with a smiley face made of fruit. His coffee was in a sippy cup.

“What’s this?” he asked, poking at the pancake.

“It’s your breakfast, silly! Now eat up, we have a big day ahead of us!”

After breakfast, I unveiled my masterpiece, a giant, colorful chore chart plastered on the fridge. “Look what I made for you!”

Mark’s eyes widened. “What the hell is that?”

“Language!” I scolded. “It’s your very own chore chart! See? You can earn gold stars for cleaning your room, doing the dishes, and putting away your toys!”

“My toys? Sarah, what are you—”

I cut him off. “Oh, and don’t forget! We have a new house rule. All screens off by 9 p.m. sharp. That includes your phone, mister!”

Mark’s face went from confused to angry. “Are you kidding me? I’m a grown man, I don’t need—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” I wagged my finger. “No arguing, or you’ll have to go to the timeout corner!”

For the next week, I stuck to my guns. Every night at 9, I’d shut off the Wi-Fi and unplug his gaming console.

I even tucked him into bed with a glass of milk and read him “Goodnight Moon” in my most soothing voice.

His meals were served on plastic plates with little dividers. I cut his sandwiches into dinosaur shapes and gave him animal crackers for snacks. When he complained, I’d say things like, “Use your words, honey. Big boys don’t whine.”

The chore chart was a particular point of contention. Every time he completed a task, I’d make a big show of giving him a gold star.

“Look at you, putting your laundry away all by yourself! Mommy’s so proud!”

He’d grit his teeth and mutter, “I’m not a child, Sarah.”

To which I’d reply, “Of course not, sweetie. Now, who wants to help make cookies?”

The breaking point came about a week into my little experiment. Mark had just been sent to the timeout corner for throwing a fit about his two-hour screen time limit. He sat there, fuming, while I calmly set the kitchen timer.

“This is ridiculous!” he exploded. “I’m a grown man, for God’s sake!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you sure about that? Because grown men don’t make their children sleep on the floor so they can play video games all night.”

He deflated a little. “Okay, okay, I get it! I’m sorry!”

I studied him for a moment. He did look genuinely remorseful, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook when I had one last blow to deliver.

“Oh, I accept your apology,” I said sweetly. “But I’ve already called your mom…”

The color drained from his face. “You didn’t.”

Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to reveal Mark’s mother, looking every bit the disappointed parent.

“Mark!” she bellowed, marching into the house. “Did you really make my sweeties sleep on the floor so you could play your little games?”

Mark looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “Mom, it’s not… I mean, I didn’t…”

She turned to me, her face softening. “Sarah, dear, I’m so sorry you had to deal with this. I thought I raised him better than that.”

I patted her arm. “It’s not your fault, Linda. Some boys just take longer to grow up than others.”

Mark’s face was beet red. “Mom, please. I’m 35 years old!”

Linda ignored him, turning back to me. “Well, not to worry. I’ve cleared my schedule for the next week. I’ll whip this boy back into shape in no time!”

As Linda bustled off to the kitchen, muttering about the state of the dishes, I caught Mark’s eye. He looked utterly defeated.

“Sarah,” he said quietly. “I really am sorry. I was selfish and irresponsible. It won’t happen again.”

I softened a little. “I know, honey. But when I’m away, I need to know you’ve got things under control. The boys need a father, not another playmate.”

He nodded, looking ashamed. “You’re right. I’ll do better, I promise.”

I smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “I know you will. Now, why don’t you go help your mother with the dishes? If you do a good job, maybe we can have ice cream for dessert.”

As Mark trudged off to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Lesson learned, I hoped. And if not… well, I still had that timeout corner ready and waiting.

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