I’m Leighton, 32, managing a demanding job and a chaotic home with my 34-year-old husband, Jeff, who’s become obsessed with what a “perfect wife” should be.
Jeff and I both work stressful jobs—his in finance and mine in marketing. But lately, his expectations have been unrealistic. It all started after a dinner at his boss Tom’s place. Tom’s wife, Susan, had a spotless house and a flawless meal ready. Jeff couldn’t stop admiring her.
“You see how Susan manages everything? Maybe you could take some pointers,” Jeff said on the drive home. I tried to stay calm, but the comparisons were relentless. “Susan always looks perfect,” he’d say, while leaving his dirty clothes around and ignoring the laundry basket.
The final straw came one Friday when I found a young woman named Marianne in our kitchen. Jeff introduced her, saying she was here to teach me how to clean and cook properly. Marianne looked uncomfortable, but Jeff insisted, “She’s here to help you get up to speed.”
I was livid but forced a smile. “Thanks for the thought, Jeff.”
ed lessons, but I have an idea. Are you in?” I asked. She agreed, intrigued.
Over the next few weeks, I turned into the perfect housewife. I woke up early, cooked elaborate meals, cleaned obsessively, and greeted Jeff with a forced smile every evening. I was cold and distant, going through the motions without any warmth.
Jeff noticed something was off. “You’ve been quiet lately. Everything okay?” he asked one evening.
I maintained my polite but distant demeanor. “I’m just focusing on the house, like you asked.”
Confused, Jeff commented, “It’s great, but it feels like you’re here but not really here.”
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