My MIL Gifted Me a Set of Rules Titled ‘How to Be a Good Wife for My Son’ for Our Wedding, While My Husband Got a Check…

You imagine marriage as stepping into a dream—an exciting new chapter with the love of your life. But for me, that dream quickly turned into a nightmare when I was handed a list of rules on how to be a “good wife.” And that’s when my journey to revenge began.

Growing up, I always believed marriage would be about partnership, love, and respect. I pictured Sunday mornings in bed, laughing over shared secrets, creating a life built on mutual understanding. But life has a funny way of shattering those fantasies.

Dan and I had just gotten married. The wedding was perfect—small, intimate, and everything I had envisioned. For a while, it felt like a fairy tale. Dan was kind, funny, and supportive, and I truly believed we were aligned on how we wanted to live our lives. That was until his mother, Karen, handed me a “special” gift after the ceremony.

I remember standing in our living room, still glowing from the wedding, when Karen approached me, her smile tight.

“This is for you, Lucia. A little something to guide you in your new role,” she said, handing me an ornate box.

Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper. At the top, in bold letters, were the words: How to Be a Good Wife for My Son.

At first, I thought it was a joke. Maybe Karen was poking fun at old stereotypes. But as I read the list, my smile faded. It was a detailed guide on how I was expected to behave as Dan’s wife.

I glanced at Dan, hoping he’d be as horrified as I was. But he was busy opening his own gift—a fat check from Karen. Me? I got a rulebook.

Later that evening, Dan casually brought up the rules. “You saw the list, right? It’s just how marriage is supposed to work.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to tell me it was all ridiculous. But he didn’t.

“Wait, you’re serious?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.

He shrugged. “It’s just what Mom thinks is important. Marriage is different from dating.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I bit my tongue, holding back the retorts boiling inside me. Was this really what Dan expected from me now?

That night, as Dan slept, I read the list again, my anger growing with every line. The rules weren’t just old-fashioned—they were downright demeaning. A few gems included:

• Wake up at 6 a.m., fully dressed with makeup on, and cook Dan a hot breakfast. Remember: no veggies, no butter, just plain eggs and toast on a blue plate because the green one ruins his appetite.
• Grocery shopping is your responsibility. A man shouldn’t be bothered with such tasks. Carry the bags yourself—it’s unladylike to ask for help.
• After dinner, ensure the kitchen is spotless before Dan even leaves the dining room. No mess should be visible to him.
• Always dress conservatively when Dan’s friends are over. You wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression.

By the time I finished reading, I was fuming. But instead of confronting Dan, I decided to play along—on my terms.

The next morning, I followed the first rule. I got up at 6 a.m., put on a full face of makeup, and made Dan breakfast. But I didn’t stop there. I took the tiniest piece of toast and the plainest, unseasoned egg I could muster and placed them on the largest blue plate we owned. When Dan came into the kitchen, he looked confused.

“Isn’t there anything else?” he asked.

I smiled sweetly. “Just following the rules! Want me to make another slice?”

He sighed, clearly unsatisfied, but said nothing.

Later that day, I headed to the grocery store, dragging home the bags all by myself. When Dan asked where his beer was, I smiled and replied, “Oh, I didn’t want you to get lazy. I bought sparkling water instead. Much healthier!”

I could tell Dan was starting to sense something was off, but I wasn’t done yet.

When his friends came over for football night, I dressed according to Karen’s rules—modestly, but in the most old-fashioned outfit I could find. I looked like I was about to teach Sunday school in the 1800s. Dan pulled me aside, whispering, “You know you don’t have to dress like that, right?”

“But your mom said I should dress modestly around your friends,” I replied, feigning innocence.

By laundry day, I was having a blast. I washed all of Dan’s clothes together—whites, darks, everything. His crisp shirts came out pink, and his socks were mismatched or shrunk. When he complained, I shrugged. “I’ll fold them in threes next time, just like the rules say.”

Dan was clearly fed up by the end of the week, and when Karen came over, things finally boiled over.

“Lucia’s doing such a great job following the rules!” Karen said, beaming. “Isn’t life easier now?”

Dan slammed his fork down. “Mom, these rules are insane! This isn’t how we want to live.”

Karen looked shocked. “But Dan, I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“No, Mom,” Dan said firmly. “Lucia isn’t my servant, and I don’t need a rulebook for our marriage. We’ll figure out our life together, without these outdated ideas.”

Karen was stunned, but she finally understood. I handed her the ornate box with a note inside that read, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

As Karen left, Dan wrapped his arm around me, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t stand up sooner.”

I smiled, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders. “Better late than never.”

And just like that, we started building our marriage on our terms—free from rules, lists, and the outdated expectations that had no place in our lives.