I was shocked when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of losing my temper, I decided to play along. Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his new idea of marriage.
I’ve always been the calm and reasonable one in our relationship. Jake, on the other hand, can easily get caught up in new trends or ideas, whether it’s a hobby or a YouTube video that claims to change his life in just a few easy steps.
Jake and I were fine until he met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loud made him right. He’d talk over anyone who tried to correct him. He was also always single (no surprise there), but that didn’t stop him from giving relationship advice to all his married friends, including Jake. Jake, who should’ve known better, was impressed by Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t worry about it much at first, but then Jake started saying things like, “Steve says marriages work best when the wife handles the household,” or “Steve thinks women should always look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.” I’d roll my eyes and make sarcastic comments, but it was bothering me. Jake was changing. He’d raise an eyebrow if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and he’d sigh if I let the laundry pile up—forgetting that I also had a full-time job.
Then one night, it happened. Jake came home with The List.
He sat me down, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across the table. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, sounding condescending in a way I’d never heard before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa, but there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, not realizing he was walking into dangerous territory. “Yeah, Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I looked at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule, titled “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” Jake had actually written out a plan for me based on what Steve—a single guy with no relationship experience—thought I should do to “improve” as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast, then go to the gym to “stay in shape.” After that? Cleaning, laundry, ironing—all before heading to work. Every evening, I was to cook dinner from scratch and make snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over. It was sexist and insulting on so many levels, I didn’t know where to start. I just stared at Jake, wondering if he had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, unaware.
“Steve says it’s important to have structure, and I think you could benefit from—”
“Benefit from what?” I interrupted, keeping my voice calm. Jake blinked, surprised, but quickly recovered.
“Well, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw the paper in his face, but instead, I surprised myself—I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m lucky you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
He looked relieved, and I almost felt sorry for him as I stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I looked at the ridiculous schedule and smiled. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” he was about to learn a lesson. I opened my laptop and started a new document titled, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” If he wanted perfection from me, there was a cost.
I started by listing all the things he’d suggested for me, beginning with the gym. “$1,200 for a personal trainer,” I typed, barely holding back a laugh.
Next was the food. If Jake wanted gourmet meals, that wasn’t happening with our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That wasn’t cheap. “$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. And if he wanted fancy meals, he’d need cooking lessons too—those were expensive.
I leaned back, laughing as I imagined his face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. The best part was yet to come.
There was no way I could manage all these demands and keep my job. If Jake wanted me to follow his absurd schedule full-time, he’d have to cover my lost income. I calculated my salary and added it to the list. “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time maid, chef, and personal assistant.”
By now, I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
And just for fun, I added a note about expanding the house. If Jake was going to have friends over all the time, they’d need a separate space. “$50,000 to build a man cave so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s new routine.”
I printed out the list, set it on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he arrived, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called, spotting the paper. “What’s this?”
Keeping a straight face, I said, “Oh, just a little list to help you become the best husband ever.”
He chuckled, thinking I was playing along, but as he read the list, his smile faded. “$1,200 for a trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I crossed my arms. “Well, you want me to follow your plan, right? I figured we should budget for it.”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?”
“How else can I follow your plan?” I asked. “I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
Jake looked stunned. The numbers and the absurdity of his demands hit him all at once. His smugness disappeared, replaced by the realization that he had messed up.
“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he stammered. “I just thought—”
“You thought you could ‘fix’ me like a project?” I said, my voice calm but firm. “Jake, marriage is about respect. And if you ever try to ‘fix’ me like this again, it’ll cost you a lot more than what’s on that paper.”
There was a long silence. Jake sighed and looked at me, defeated.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize how ridiculous it was. Steve made it sound reasonable, but now I see… it’s toxic. I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded. “Yes, you have. And honestly, Steve has no idea what he’s talking about. Why would you listen to him?”
Jake’s face softened as the truth hit him. “You’re right. He has no clue.”
We tore up both lists, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were back on the same team. It was a reminder that marriage isn’t about being perfect—it’s about being better together.
Pianist Always Leaves a Free Ticket for a Special Guest and Breaks Down in Tears the Day Someone Finally Takes It
Miley could listen to Ian’s music for hours. However, as she finds herself falling in love with the young pianist, she learns about Nora, a woman for whom he has been reserving a ticket at every performance. When the ticket is finally claimed, Ian is forced to confront his past.
Ian sat alone at the grand piano, the faint echoes of his notes filling the empty concert hall.
His fingers danced over the keys with precision, yet his movements carried a natural fluidity, as if the music were flowing straight from his soul.
Each note lingered in the air, a delicate thread weaving through the silence. His eyes, nearly closed, gave him the appearance of being lost in a dream.
At the entrance, Miley stood quietly, her breath catching each time Ian struck a particularly moving chord.
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She felt a warmth in her chest, an admiration that made her heart beat just a little faster.
The way he poured his heart into the music mesmerized her. She didn’t dare move, not wanting to interrupt the magic.
A soft shuffle of footsteps broke the silence. Rosa, the kind-hearted older woman who had worked at the theater for decades, approached Miley with a knowing smile.
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Rosa whispered, her voice barely audible, as if speaking louder would break the spell.
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Miley nodded quickly, then stumbled over her words.
“He’s very good… I mean, he plays very well. That’s what I meant.”
Rosa chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling.
“Don’t be shy, sweetheart. You’re young—this is the time for such feelings.”
Miley’s cheeks flushed a deep pink.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I just like how he plays, that’s all.”
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“Sure, sure,” Rosa teased, her smile widening.
As Ian’s final note faded into the air, he exhaled deeply, turning to look around the hall.
Spotting Rosa and Miley, he broke into a wide smile and waved, jogging over to them.
“Great performance, Ian, as always,” Rosa praised warmly.
“Thank you, Rosa,” Ian replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Did you remember to set aside the ticket?”
“As always, Ian—one ticket for Nora,” Rosa said with a reassuring nod.
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Ian’s face softened, a look of quiet gratitude flickering across his features. “Thank you,” he said sincerely before heading out of the building.
Curiosity burned in Miley’s chest.
“What’s this ticket about?” she asked Rosa.
Rosa leaned closer, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “As long as I’ve known Ian, he always sets aside one ticket before every performance. It’s always for Nora.”
Miley frowned slightly.
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“Who is she? His mom? Sister? Girlfriend?” Her voice wavered with unease.
Rosa shrugged.
“I don’t know. She’s never come to any of his performances. But Ian keeps leaving a ticket for her, never explaining who she is.”
“That’s so sad,” Miley murmured, her heart aching for Ian.
“Yes, it is,” Rosa agreed. Then, with a small smile, she added, “But maybe it’s for the best—keeps a bit of mystery in his performances.”
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Miley nodded, but her thoughts lingered on the name: Nora. Who was she, and why did she hold such a place in Ian’s heart?
Miley stood frozen in front of Ian’s dressing room door, her palms damp with nervous sweat.
She wrung her hands together, muttering under her breath, rehearsing the words that refused to come out smoothly.
“Just say it. ‘Ian, do you want to go for a walk?’ It’s not that hard,” she whispered, but her voice trembled even in the quiet.
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Taking a shaky breath, she straightened her shoulders and stepped forward, her hand reaching for the door.
Before she could knock, it swung open. Ian stood there, his hand still on the doorknob, his surprised eyes meeting hers.
“Miley… Hi,” he said, his voice warm but puzzled.
“Hi, Ian,” she replied, her throat suddenly dry. She swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for the words she had practiced.
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“Is something wrong?” Ian asked, concern flickering across his face. “Did you need something?”
“No… I mean, yes. Yes, I did.” Miley’s voice was unsteady, and she hated how unsure she sounded.
“Listen, Ian, I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a long time.”
Ian tilted his head, curious. “Ask me what?”
She hesitated, then blurted out, “Would you like to… I mean, do you want to, after your performance…”
“Do I want to what?” he prompted gently.
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“Go to the park with me,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. “For a walk. With me.”
Ian stared at her for a moment, and she felt her heart thudding loudly in her chest.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, looking thoughtful. Finally, he sighed, and his expression turned somber.
“I’m sorry, Miley. I’d really like to, but I can’t.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand… Why not?”
“I can’t say,” he said softly, avoiding her gaze.
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“Is it because of Nora?” she asked, the name slipping out before she could stop it.
Ian flinched slightly, his jaw tightening.
“You don’t understand… I’m sorry, the performance is starting soon. I need to prepare.”
Before she could say anything else, Ian brushed past her, walking briskly down the hall.
Miley stood there, her heart sinking, tears threatening to spill as his words echoed in her mind.
She sat on the cold bench near the cloakroom, her face buried in her hands. Quiet sobs shook her shoulders as she tried to make sense of everything.
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Her tears blurred the familiar surroundings, but she barely noticed. All she could think about was Ian—his music, his distant smile, and his refusal.
From across the room, Rosa noticed the young woman and hurried over. Her soft footsteps were comforting in the otherwise silent space.
“Miley, dear, what happened?” Rosa asked gently, sitting beside her. Her warm hand rested lightly on Miley’s shoulder.
“I’m such a fool. A complete fool,” Miley blurted out between sobs. “Why did I ever think I deserved this?”
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Rosa frowned, her kind eyes filled with concern.
“Don’t say that! You’re a smart and beautiful young woman. Tell me what happened.”
Miley sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“I talked to Ian,” she began, her voice shaking. “I wanted to ask him out.”
“And what did he say?” Rosa asked carefully.
“He said he’d like to but couldn’t,” Miley said, her voice breaking.
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“He didn’t explain anything. He just walked away! It’s all because of that Nora! But she doesn’t even care about him! She doesn’t even come to his performances! And I do! I appreciate him!”
“Oh, sweetie,” Rosa said, her voice soothing. “Don’t be upset. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll find your true love.”
Miley shook her head, her tears slowing but her resolve hardening. “No!” she said firmly. “I’m going to fight for him.”
Before Rosa could respond, Miley stood, wiped her face, and marched toward Ian’s dressing room.
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Determination burned in her eyes as she reached the door. She knocked softly. No answer. Carefully, she turned the knob and stepped inside.
The room was neat, almost too neat, as though Ian had been trying to keep everything in perfect order to hide the chaos within.
Miley scanned the desk, her gaze landing on a leather-bound journal. Her hands trembled as she picked it up.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered to herself, but the thought of understanding Ian pushed her forward.
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She opened the journal and flipped through the pages, searching for the name that had haunted her thoughts: Nora.
Her breath hitched when she found it. The words leaped off the page:
“I’ve been invited to audition at the theater. They want to hear me play and evaluate my skills. I didn’t want to go—I didn’t see the point in embarrassing myself again—but Nora thought differently. She convinced me to go. I don’t know what I’d do without her…”
Miley’s eyes widened as she read. She turned another page:
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“I got the part! I don’t know how it happened, but they want me to play there. An agent even took my number and promised to set up performances for me. I can’t believe it—it’s all thanks to Nora!”
She kept flipping until she reached the final page. Her heart stopped when she saw the yellowed newspaper clipping glued to it.
The headline read: “After a tragic fire, 26-year-old Nora Gates has passed away…”
Miley’s hands fell to her sides as tears streamed down her cheeks. Now she understood.
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Nora wasn’t some distant, uncaring figure—she was Ian’s late girlfriend, the woman who had believed in him when he didn’t believe in himself.
Miley gently placed the journal back on the desk and left the room, her heart heavy with the weight of her discovery.
The theater buzzed with quiet anticipation as the lights dimmed and Ian prepared to take his place at the piano.
His heart raced, not from stage fright, but from Rosa’s words just moments earlier.
“Ian, someone finally took your ticket,” she had whispered.
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“What!? That can’t be!” he had exclaimed, his voice sharp with disbelief.
Rosa had only shrugged, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement, before walking away.
The melody filled the room, soft yet powerful, like waves crashing and retreating.
Still, his eyes darted toward the reserved seat every few minutes. At first, it was empty, just as it always had been.
A pang of relief—or was it disappointment?—settled in his chest.
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Then, partway through a piece, he caught sight of someone sitting there. It was Miley.
His breath hitched as he stared, stunned.
Miley’s face, partially hidden behind the bouquet of flowers she held, looked at him with both fear and determination. Ian’s heart ached in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
Tears blurred his vision, but he kept playing, pouring every ounce of emotion into the music. By the time the final note rang out, the audience erupted into applause.
Miley waited for the crowd to settle before approaching him. She handed him the flowers, her voice trembling.
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“Ian, it was wonderful. Thank you for the performance.”
“You took the ticket,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.
“Yes… I’m sorry. It was for Nora, right?.”
Ian nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Yes.”
“But Nora is no longer here, Ian,” Miley said gently. “I know what she did for you, and I know how much you loved her.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice cracking.
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“I do,” Miley replied, her eyes glistening. “I’m sorry, but I read a few pages of your journal. She wanted you to live, Ian. To follow your dreams. To be happy.”
Ian lowered his gaze, the weight of her words sinking in.
“But she’s gone…”
Miley stepped closer.
“But you’re still here. Do you think she would want your life to stop with hers?”
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For a long moment, Ian said nothing, the silence between them thick with unspoken pain. Finally, Miley placed the flowers in his hands.
“You’re a wonderful person, Ian. Please, allow yourself to be happy.”
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “Wait!”
Miley spun around, her eyes wide.
“I want to take a walk with you in the park,” Ian said, his voice quiet but sure.
A small, hopeful smile spread across Miley’s face as she nodded.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Teenage boy Charlie struggles to understand why his peers receive expensive presents while he’s left listening to his mother’s excuses. Then he discovers that his mother had prepared 15 gifts for his future birthdays. But after learning the reason behind it, he finally realizes what he truly wants.
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