An arrogant man who constantly mocked his wife for being a terrible homemaker soon learns the hard way that karma has a sharp sense of humor—and comes to regret every word.
When Laura Benton welcomed her first child, a daughter she named Isla, she believed she could balance her career and household with ease. She had always been organized and determined, the kind of woman who made color-coded schedules for everything. For the first few years, her plan seemed to work. Mornings were hectic, but she managed to get Isla ready for preschool, make it to her office, and still keep the house tidy. She was proud of herself for doing it all.
But everything changed when she gave birth to twin boys—Mason and Caleb.
Raising three children, two of them infants, while holding down a job was a test of endurance she had never anticipated. The demands multiplied overnight. Some mornings she burned breakfast; other days she left the iron on too long, scorching one of her husband’s shirts. There were times she couldn’t remember whether she’d locked the front door or fed the boys their second bottle.
The little mistakes piled up, and David, her husband, noticed. At first, he made lighthearted comments—jokes about her “forgetting her touch.” But soon, the remarks became sharper, edged with impatience.
One evening, after she accidentally left a pot boiling over on the stove, David finally said what had been on his mind for months.
“Laura, this isn’t working,” he told her flatly. “You’re too distracted. Either the house falls apart or your job suffers. We can’t keep going like this. I think you should quit and stay home with the kids.”
Laura hesitated. The thought of giving up her career felt like losing a part of herself. “I can manage both,” she argued. “I just need to get better organized.”
But the mistakes continued, and David grew more insistent. Eventually, she gave in, handing in her resignation and stepping into the role of full-time homemaker.
She had imagined that leaving her job would ease the pressure. Instead, it brought new strains. Without the structure of her office life, the days bled into each other, a continuous loop of cooking, cleaning, and childcare. David, rather than becoming more understanding, seemed more critical than ever.
If the sink was full of dirty dishes, it was Laura’s fault. If toys were scattered across the living room, Laura was to blame. If dinner was too salty, she was the one who had “ruined” it. Every problem in the house, no matter how small, landed squarely on her shoulders.
“You used to be so capable,” David would say, shaking his head. “I fought my mother over marrying you. Now I wonder what happened to that woman.”
The words stung, but Laura kept quiet. She told herself she was enduring it for the sake of their children. She didn’t want to disrupt their family. She convinced herself that David’s temper would pass.
But one night, things went too far.
It was the evening after Mason and Caleb’s first birthday. The house still carried the faint scent of cake and balloons. Laura was in the nursery, softly singing to the twins, trying to coax them to sleep. Isla had already drifted off in her room.
Then David’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and commanding.
“Laura! Are you deaf? Get in here—now!”
The boys startled awake, their cries replacing the gentle hum of her lullaby. Laura’s shoulders tensed. She kissed each baby’s forehead, set them in their cribs, and hurried to the living room.
“What is it, David? I just got the twins almost asleep!” she said, her voice low but tight.
“Almost asleep?” He gave a humorless laugh. “That’s your job now, isn’t it? You’re not exactly bringing in a paycheck.”
Her patience thinned. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who works around here. I’m the one cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, taking care of the kids—everything.”
“Oh, spare me the speech,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “When you’re done with the bedtime routine, the dishes in the kitchen need to be washed. I’m going to bed. I don’t want to wake up to a mess.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said incredulously. “I’ve been on my feet since five this morning. Can’t you help me for once?”
“Help? That’s your responsibility, Laura. Do it properly.” He turned toward the hallway.
She opened her mouth to respond, but a wave of dizziness made her grip the edge of the table. “David… I haven’t eaten since this morning. Can you—” Her words slurred, and before she could finish, her knees buckled.
She collapsed to the floor. The vase on the table tipped over, shattering into bright shards beside her.
David spun around at the sound. “Laura? Get up!” he said sharply. “If this is some kind of act, it’s not funny.”
But when she didn’t move, his expression shifted. Kneeling beside her, he shook her shoulder. “Laura? Hey—Laura!”
Panic prickled at him. He grabbed his phone and called 911, then rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water. He splashed it on her face, but she remained unresponsive.
He sprinted next door to get Mrs. Carter, their elderly neighbor, to watch the children until help arrived.
The minutes stretched, each one heavier than the last, until the paramedics finally appeared. David carried Laura to the ambulance, his hands trembling.
At the hospital, a doctor told him she had fainted from sheer exhaustion and would need to be kept under observation. The words landed with a weight he couldn’t ignore.
When David returned home late that night, the house felt different—quieter, heavier. In the kitchen, he stepped on something sharp. Crouching down, he saw pieces of the broken vase still scattered on the floor. As he picked them up, his eyes caught a piece of paper tucked partly under the table leg.
It was a handwritten list in Laura’s looping script.
5:00 a.m. – Wake up
5:30 a.m. – Shower, pack Isla’s school bag
6:00 a.m. – Morning bottles for Mason & Caleb; wake Isla
7:00 a.m. – Wake David (why can’t he wake himself?)
7:30 a.m. – Make breakfast
8:00 a.m. – Isla’s school bus
8:15 a.m. – Iron David’s clothes, pack his lunch
9:00 a.m. – David leaves (supposed “free time”)
By 10:00 a.m. – Feed twins again, clean kitchen, tidy Isla’s room
12:00 p.m. – Lunch
1:00 p.m. – Isla home
2:00 p.m. – Isla’s homework help
3:00 p.m. – Pick Isla up from tutoring
4:00 p.m. – Bake cookies for Isla
5:00 p.m. – Start dinner
6:00 p.m. – David home; twins should be asleep
7:00 p.m. – Dinner
8:00 p.m. – Dishes
9:00 p.m. – Laundry, prep for next day
10:00 p.m. – Read (if still awake)
At the bottom, she had written in smaller letters:
You can do it, Laura.
David stared at the page. The words were simple, but they spoke volumes. She didn’t have a single unclaimed moment. No wonder she had collapsed—she was running herself into the ground.
And he had been making it worse.
The next morning, David called his office and requested emergency leave. If Laura could do all that every day, so could he—at least until she came home.
But reality humbled him quickly. He overslept by nearly five hours, missing half the tasks before the day had even begun. Breakfast ended in disaster with burnt toast, Mason screaming for a bottle, and Isla pouting over the lack of her usual pancakes. By dinner, the soup he made was watery and completely without salt.
As night fell, David sank onto the couch, exhausted in a way he had never been before. And he had only done this for one day.
He realized then how blind he’d been. Laura wasn’t failing—she was carrying the weight of their entire household without thanks or support.
The following afternoon, before visiting her at the hospital, he stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of her favorite lilies.
When he walked into her room, Laura blinked in surprise. “David? You brought flowers?”
He set them down gently. “I’m sorry, Laura. The doctor said you collapsed because you were completely worn out. I’ve been… awful. I should have helped you more.”
She studied his face, unsure what to make of his sudden softness. “Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. “I just want to hold you for a moment.”
She let herself relax against him, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.
“I love you,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry.”
“I love you too,” she said, quietly, still unsure what had brought this change, but grateful for it.
From that day forward, David was different. He hired a part-time nanny to help with the children and began pitching in on weekends when the nanny was off. He learned how to fold laundry, how to soothe the twins, even how to make Isla’s favorite pancakes.
It had taken him far too long, but he finally understood—being a homemaker was not a break from work. It was work, demanding and relentless, and Laura had been doing it alone for far too long.
Now, he intended to make sure she never had to again.
