Six months after giving birth, Shirley was running on empty. Between sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and the constant cycle of feeding and soothing, her world had become a blur of fatigue and routine. When the family’s washing machine suddenly broke down, she expected her husband, Billy, to lend a hand. Instead, he looked up from his phone and said, “Just wash everything by hand—people did it for centuries.”
That single remark revealed how little he grasped the weight of her daily responsibilities. Caring for an infant meant nonstop laundry — tiny socks, bibs, burp cloths, and bedding that piled up faster than she could manage. When the washing machine finally gave out, Shirley’s patience did too. She unplugged it, tapped every button, and prayed for a miracle, but it was gone for good.
When Billy arrived home, she explained the situation while holding their baby and a basket of wet clothes. “The washing machine’s dead,” she said. “We need a new one.” But Billy’s response was dismissive. He said they couldn’t afford it this month because he had promised to fund his mother’s vacation. Shocked, Shirley reminded him that they couldn’t go weeks without washing the baby’s clothes. Billy simply shrugged, insisting his mother “deserved a break.”
Feeling defeated, Shirley decided that if Billy wanted her to live like it was the 1800s, she would. The next morning, she filled the bathtub with hot water and detergent, scrubbing clothes until her arms throbbed. The water turned gray, her hands burned red, and her back ached with every wring. Still, the laundry didn’t stop. Day after day, she handwashed every piece while Billy relaxed on the couch, scrolling through his phone, oblivious to her pain.
One evening, as she collapsed beside him, he glanced over and asked, “What’s wrong with you? You look tired.” That was the breaking point. Shirley didn’t argue or shout. She only smiled and said, “You’ll see.”
She had reached her limit—and was about to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.