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
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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
My Teenage Daughter Was Against My Marriage to a New Man, and It Tore Our Family Apart — Story of the Day
Falling in love at 47 was something I never saw coming, especially after the heartbreak of my first marriage. Now, as I prepare to marry John, my teenage daughter, Emilia, is struggling to accept him. Balancing my love for John and my bond with Emilia, I’m faced with difficult choices and unspoken fears.
I never could have imagined that at 47, I would fall in love again, or that I would ever want a relationship after my failed first marriage, which ended 12 years ago.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
For a long time, I thought I was done with love. My ex-husband had been horrible to me. He constantly nagged, telling me I wasn’t doing enough around the house, even though I worked just as much as he did.
His words cut deep, especially when he made fun of me for gaining weight after my pregnancy. He didn’t care how hard I was trying or how much I juggled. I knew he was cheating, but I forgave him every time.
I told myself it was for the sake of our family, for our daughter. But when my then 4-year-old Emilia saw him with another woman, something broke inside me. That was the final straw. I couldn’t live like that anymore.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The only good thing from that marriage is Emilia. She’s my everything—the best thing that ever happened to me. We’ve always been close.
For so long, it was just her and me, like a team against the world. I never thought I needed anyone else until a year ago when John came into my life.
John was different. He made me feel loved and cared for in ways I hadn’t felt in years. He treated Emilia with kindness, like she was his own daughter. Watching the two of them together gave me hope. I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, John could be the father Emilia never had.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But everything changed after he proposed. Suddenly, Emilia wasn’t the same. She argued with John, with me, and left the house every time he came over. I didn’t understand it, and it broke my heart.
One evening, I sat in the kitchen with John, staring down at my cup of tea. I sighed, feeling the weight of everything. “I don’t know what to do,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
John looked at me, concerned. “Maybe we should start meeting at my place instead?” he suggested.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I shook my head. “We’re getting married soon. What are we supposed to do, live apart then too?” I sighed again, feeling even more frustrated. “I don’t understand why she’s acting like this.”
John leaned back in his chair, thinking. “She’s jealous, Lucy. It’s been just you and her for so long. Now, you’ve got someone else in your life. Someone who’s taking up your time and love.”
“I guess,” I said. “But you two were fine before. She liked you.”
“That was different,” he replied calmly. “Back then, I was just your boyfriend. Now I’m going to be your husband and her stepfather. That’s a big change for her.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I nodded slowly. “You’re right. But I still don’t know what to do.”
John reached for my hand. “Talk to her,” he said softly.
I snorted, trying to hide my nerves. “Talk to a teenage girl? That’s like walking into a fire.”
John smiled. “No, talk to your daughter. She needs you.” I leaned my head on his shoulder, wishing I had the answers.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The next day, I knew I had to talk to Emilia. I stood outside her door for a moment before knocking. “Come in,” she said, sounding annoyed. I could almost hear her eyes rolling.
I stepped inside, feeling nervous, and sat down on the edge of her bed. She looked at me, waiting for me to speak. “I wanted to talk to you,” I said.
Emilia raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“I know it’s probably hard for you, with John becoming part of our family,” I said, trying to meet her gaze.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She shrugged. “It’s not hard. John’s fine.”
“Then why do you leave every time he comes over?” I asked, keeping my voice calm. “And why do you argue with him?”
“Just because,” she muttered.
I took a deep breath. “Look, just because I love John doesn’t mean I’ll love you any less. You’re my daughter, and—”
She cut me off, her voice rising. “I don’t believe that!” she shouted. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I have homework.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Her words stung, but I stood up slowly. “Alright. But if you ever want to talk, you can always come to me. It’s still you and me against the world, remember?”
Emilia didn’t respond. I looked at her for a moment, hoping for something, but she stayed silent. With a heavy heart, I left the room.
As the wedding day got closer, Emilia’s behavior only got worse. Every decision John and I made, she had a problem with. If we liked a caterer, she’d complain about the menu.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
It wasn’t until we chose the one she recommended that the complaints stopped. Picking out my wedding dress became a two-week ordeal, and she insisted on making my bouquet herself.
I thought it was her way of staying involved, but each time she demanded something to be changed, I could feel the tension growing. She had her own dress altered seven times, and John quietly paid for each adjustment.
It wasn’t just the wedding preparations that were exhausting—it was seeing how much pain she was in. I knew she was struggling, but I didn’t know how to help. Her anger felt like a wall between us, and every day, it seemed to grow taller.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Maybe we should cancel the wedding,” I said to John one evening, my voice soft.
John looked at me, surprised. “What? Did I do something wrong?” he asked, concerned.
“No, you’re perfect,” I reassured him. “I love you, and that hasn’t changed. It’s just Emilia…”
John nodded, understanding. “This is really hard for her,” he said, confirming what I had feared all along.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Yes,” I admitted, finally saying the words out loud. “I thought maybe if we just kept dating, she would come around. She might accept it better if we didn’t rush.”
John took a deep breath and said, “Lucy, I’ll support you no matter what. But this is your life, not Emilia’s. In two years, she’ll be in college, living her own life.”
“I know,” I replied, my chest tightening. “But it hurts to see her struggling like this.”
John reached for my hand. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for both of you. We’ll figure it out together. I just want to make you both happy.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Then he paused as if considering something. “Actually, I’ve been thinking… I’d like to adopt Emilia. If she’s willing, of course. I already see her as my daughter.”
Tears filled my eyes as I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. Somewhere in the hallway, I heard a small noise, but I didn’t pay it much attention. Right now, I was focused on the love and support I had right in front of me.
The wedding day had finally come, and I felt both excited and nervous. I prayed to every god I could think of, hoping everything would go smoothly. But it seemed my prayers went unheard. Just minutes before the ceremony, my friend Kyra hurried into the room, looking worried.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Lucy, we have a problem,” she said, her voice tense. My heart sank instantly. “Emilia hasn’t shown up yet.”
“What do you mean, she hasn’t shown up?” I asked, feeling my chest tighten.
“I don’t know,” Kyra said. “She’s not answering her phone or replying to texts.”
Panic rushed through me. I didn’t even think before I bolted out of the room to find John. When I saw him, I blurted out, “Emilia’s gone. She’s disappeared.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
John stayed calm. “Go find her,” he said with a small smile.
“But the ceremony starts in twenty minutes,” I said, unsure.
“Go,” he repeated, his voice gentle. “This wedding won’t mean anything if Emilia isn’t there.”
I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight. In that moment, I knew—once again—that I had chosen the right man.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I had a feeling I knew where Emilia might be. My heart raced as I drove to the old playground we used to visit when she was younger. Sure enough, when I arrived, I spotted her sitting on one of the swings, her head down, gently swaying back and forth. Relief washed over me.
“Hey,” I said as I approached her, trying to keep my voice steady.
Emilia looked up at me, her eyes red and filled with tears. “Mom? What are you doing here? Isn’t your wedding starting soon?”
I sat down on the swing next to her and shook my head. “The ceremony doesn’t matter without you,” I said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She wiped her eyes and asked, “How did John take it? Did he leave you?”
“No, he didn’t leave,” I assured her. “He’s the one who sent me to find you. He told me the same thing I just told you—the ceremony won’t mean anything if you’re not there.”
Emilia blinked, surprised. “Really? He said that?”
I nodded. “What’s going on, Emilia? Why are you trying to stop the wedding? I thought you liked John.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“It’s not that,” she muttered. “It’s… it’s just that it’s always been you and me. I thought it would always stay that way. What if he leaves us like Dad did? I couldn’t handle that again.”
Hearing her say that made my heart ache. “So that’s what this is about? You’re testing John?”
She sighed, her voice small. “Not on purpose… but maybe.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I reached over and took her hand. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to protect me. I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you. And trust me, John isn’t going anywhere. He loves both of us. He even told me he wants to adopt you.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I overheard you two talking about it. That’s why I’m not at the ceremony right now. What if I let him in, and then he just… leaves? I’m scared, Mom.”
I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. “Oh, baby. I’m scared too. But love is about taking risks. We don’t know the future, but we choose love because it’s worth it.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She rested her head on my shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m ready…”
“I get it,” I said softly. “But no matter what, you’ll always have me. No one, not even John, can change that. You and I? We’ve been a team from the start.”
Emilia let out a small laugh. “But now John’s part of the team too…”
I smiled and squeezed her hand. “It’s easier to fight with three of us, don’t you think?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She nodded, smiling a little. “I guess so.”
“Do you trust me?” I asked, looking her in the eyes. She nodded.
“And I trust John. Can you trust my trust?”
After a moment, she nodded again. “Yes.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I stood up, holding out my hand. “Then let’s go. I’m late to my own wedding,” I said with a wink.
Emilia took my hand, standing up beside me. We shared a tight hug, knowing that no matter what, we would always have each other.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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