My Husband Refused to Buy a New Washing Machine and Told Me to Wash Everything by Hand — Because He Promised His Mom a Vacation Instead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A satisfied smiling woman | Source: Pexels

Old Woman Took My Hand and Started Predicting My Future, Persuading Me to Cancel My Wedding

When a strange woman grabbed my hand and warned me not to go through with my wedding, I brushed it off. But when I found out she was a paid actress, I had to know: who would go to such lengths to stop me from marrying the man I loved?

I was never the superstitious type. I’m Penelope, just your average woman juggling work, wedding plans, and spending time with my best friend, Esther. Life had been a blur of excitement lately. Cameron, my fiancé, was everything I could ever ask for — thoughtful, funny, and supportive.

A grayscale photo of a loving couple | Source: Pexels

A grayscale photo of a loving couple | Source: Pexels

Our wedding was just a couple of months away, and Esther, as usual, was by my side through all the chaos, helping me pick out flower arrangements, dresses, and everything in between.

It was a normal Saturday afternoon when the strange encounter happened. Esther and I had just left our favorite boutique, where we’d spent hours browsing through racks of dresses and debating which honeymoon destinations were overrated.

She was still trying to convince me that Fiji wasn’t all it was cracked up to be as we strolled through the supermarket, picking up a few groceries for the week.

A shopping cart in a grocery store aisle | Source: Unsplash

A shopping cart in a grocery store aisle | Source: Unsplash

We were halfway down the cereal aisle when I felt someone standing a little too close behind me.

Turning around, I was face-to-face with an old woman: her dark hair messy, her piercing eyes locked onto mine. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand, her grip firm, almost desperate.

“I feel four scars,” she said, her voice low and gravelly. “All on your legs. An animal… a wolf?”

An old woman with dark messy hair and piercing eyes is standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

An old woman with dark messy hair and piercing eyes is standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

I froze, my heart nearly stopping. My legs — she was right. I had those scars, deep and jagged from when a wolf attacked me on a family camping trip when I was five. I hadn’t told many people about that. How could she possibly know?

Esther, who had been distracted by a message on her phone, turned just in time to see the woman holding my hand. “Hey! Let go of her!” she snapped, stepping closer, ready to intervene.

A woman looking angrily at someone while standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking angrily at someone while standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

But the woman didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes stayed locked on mine. “I see your upcoming wedding,” she murmured, her grip tightening. “Don’t do it. Trouble awaits you.”

My breath caught in my throat. I felt like I was rooted to the spot, unable to move. How did she know about my wedding? What kind of “trouble” was she talking about?

A woman looks surprised and worried while standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

A woman looks surprised and worried while standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

Before I could ask her any of these questions, Esther pulled my hand free from the woman’s grip with one sharp tug. “Are you out of your mind?” Esther hissed at the woman. “Get lost, witch!”

The woman blinked, as if waking from a trance, then slinked away without another word. I stared after her, my heart still pounding.

“Penelope, are you okay?” Esther asked, her voice softening now that the stranger was gone. “She was probably just some crazy lady. Don’t let it get to you.”

A woman looks concerned while standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

A woman looks concerned while standing in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney

I tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, though deep down, I wasn’t so sure. For the next two weeks, her words haunted me. “Don’t do it. Trouble awaits you.” They replayed in my mind like a broken record, and no matter how many times I told myself it was nonsense, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

A woman looks worried and thoughtful | Source: Midjourney

A woman looks worried and thoughtful | Source: Midjourney

Then yesterday, while having lunch with my mom at a small café, I saw her again — at least, I thought I did. Across the street, a woman was hurrying into a shop, but this time, her hair was blonde, her eyes light. She looked completely different, but there was something about her, something familiar.

Without thinking, I jumped up from my chair and rushed outside. “Hey! You!” I called, catching up to her just as she was about to enter the shop.

A woman with blonde hair standing in a flower shop | Source: Midjourney

A woman with blonde hair standing in a flower shop | Source: Midjourney

The woman turned, startled. “Let me go!” she shrieked as I grabbed her wrist.

“Who are you?” I demanded, tightening my grip.

“I… I’m an actress,” she stammered. “I was paid to scare you into canceling your wedding.”

My heart dropped. “Paid? By who?”

She hesitated, then reluctantly pulled out her phone. My blood ran cold when she showed me the photo on her screen.

I could barely feel my legs as I stared at the picture on her phone screen.

An extremely shocked woman staring at a phone screen | Source: Midjourney

An extremely shocked woman staring at a phone screen | Source: Midjourney

It was Cameron. The man I was supposed to marry in a few months. The man I trusted, loved, and thought I would spend my life with.

“He… he paid you?” My voice cracked as I asked, still trying to process the betrayal.

The actress shifted nervously, glancing around as if afraid someone might see us. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I was just doing my job. Please let me go.”

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “Why? Why did he do this?”

An angry and upset woman | Source: Midjourney

An angry and upset woman | Source: Midjourney

“I don’t know,” she admitted, rubbing her wrist where I had grabbed her. “He just said he couldn’t go through with the wedding, but didn’t know how to tell you.”

I felt a burning rage rise in me, but it wasn’t the fiery kind that made me want to scream. No, this was cold. Ice cold. He couldn’t call off the wedding himself, so he hired someone to manipulate me into doing it? The sheer cowardice was almost laughable. Almost.

A closeup of a man paying money to a woman | Source: Pexels

A closeup of a man paying money to a woman | Source: Pexels

I exhaled slowly, forcing a calm that I didn’t feel. “Thank you for being honest,” I muttered, turning away from her. I didn’t wait for a response. My feet carried me down the street in a daze. My mind raced, thoughts of Cameron, the wedding, everything spinning out of control.

By the time I got home, I had already made up my mind. Two could play this game.

That evening, I set the table for dinner as if nothing had happened. I cooked his favorite — roasted chicken with rosemary potatoes — and made sure everything looked perfect.

A photo showing roasted chicken served with rosemary potatoes for dinner | Source: Midjourney

A photo showing roasted chicken served with rosemary potatoes for dinner | Source: Midjourney

The scent filled the apartment, warm and comforting, masking the cold storm brewing inside me.

When Cameron walked in, his usual cheerful demeanor seemed a bit off. Maybe it was guilt gnawing at him. Good. He deserved it.

“Hey, babe!” he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, oblivious to what was coming. “Something smells great.”

“Just your favorite,” I replied, forcing a smile as I placed the plates on the table. “I thought we could have a nice night in.”

A woman forces a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman forces a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

He sat down, and for a moment, we ate in silence. I waited, watching him between bites, waiting for the perfect moment. My heart raced, but outwardly, I stayed calm. When the time felt right, I casually began the conversation I had been planning all day.

“So,” I started, my tone light and easy, “you won’t believe what happened to me today.”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

A man looks surprised while sitting at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

A man looks surprised while sitting at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

“I was at the supermarket with Esther,” I said, setting my fork down and meeting his gaze. “And this woman just came up to me, grabbed my hand out of nowhere.”

Cameron froze, his fork hovering mid-air. “What?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “What did she want?”

I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal. “Oh, she started talking about these scars I have on my legs. It was weird — she knew about them, even though I’ve never met her in my life.”

A closeup of a person's body with a scar | Source: Pexels

A closeup of a person’s body with a scar | Source: Pexels

His eyes widened slightly. “That’s strange,” he said, his voice a little too tight. “What else did she say?”

“Oh, you know,” I continued, keeping my voice light, “she mentioned our wedding. Said some interesting things about it.”

Cameron’s grip tightened on his fork. “Really? What… what exactly did she say?”

I smiled sweetly, watching him squirm. “She said you’d be a super successful man and that we’d have a very happy marriage.”

That’s when he choked. Right on cue.

A stunned man sitting at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

A stunned man sitting at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

He coughed, gasping for breath as I sat back, watching with an almost detached amusement. His face turned pale, his eyes wide with panic as he tried to recover.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” I asked, doing my best to sound concerned, though inside, I was relishing every second of his discomfort.

“Y-yeah,” he sputtered, wiping his mouth. “Just… unexpected.”

I leaned in slightly, dropping the playful tone. “Unexpected? What’s unexpected, Cam? The part about us having a happy marriage? Or the fact that you’re such a coward, you couldn’t even break off the engagement yourself?”

An angry and upset woman  at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

An angry and upset woman at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

His face went white as a sheet. “W-what? What are you talking about, Pen?”

I didn’t let him off the hook. “I ran into your actress today. The one you hired to freak me out and get rid of me!”

For a moment, Cameron just sat there, stunned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He had no words: no explanation, no excuses. He was caught, and we both knew it.

“How… how did you—” he stammered, but I cut him off.

An extremely shocked man | Source: Midjourney

An extremely shocked man | Source: Midjourney

“Don’t you dare deny it! I know everything” I kept my voice low and steady. “You really thought I wouldn’t figure it out, huh?”

His hands trembled slightly as he set his fork down, staring at the table. “Pen, I—”

“Don’t,” I interrupted, standing up slowly. “Don’t even try to explain. I’m done being fooled by you.”

He finally looked up at me, his face a blend of guilt and desperation. “I didn’t know how to tell you, Pen. I thought it would be easier this way.”

A man looks guilty and desperate | Source: Midjourney

A man looks guilty and desperate | Source: Midjourney

I laughed — actually laughed at the absurdity of it. “Easier? You thought hiring some stranger to spout nonsense about our wedding would be easier than just talking to me? We’ve been together for years, Cam! And this is how you handle it?”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

I leaned in close, just enough to see the shame in his eyes. “I guess I’ll be the one to call off the wedding then,” I whispered.

A woman looking at someone at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking at someone at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney

With that, I turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving him sitting there, stunned and speechless. As I closed the door behind me, the weight that had been crushing me for weeks finally lifted. The future I had envisioned with Cameron crumbled, but in its place, a new path opened — one where I no longer had to pretend.

Game over, Cameron. Game over.

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

Did you find this story exciting? Wait till you read this next one: I was just moments away from saying ‘I do’ when the church doors burst open, and my father shrieked that the WEDDING WAS OFF. What he said next shattered my heart in the blink of an eye.

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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