When I saw my husband helping our young neighbor move her boxes—after telling me he was “too busy” to come pick me up from the grocery store—I didn’t lose my temper or cause a scene. I smiled, walked into our house, and began crafting the perfect plan to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.
You ever get that gut feeling that something isn’t right, but you ignore it because you don’t want to seem like that kind of wife?
That was me.
Until last Saturday.
I wish I could tell you this story has a lighthearted ending. It doesn’t. It ends with Greg—my husband—getting exactly what he had coming.
It all began with something so small, I almost brushed it off.
That morning, my car had been making this awful clanking noise whenever I pressed the gas. I didn’t want to risk breaking down on the side of the road, so I left it at home and took an Uber to the grocery store instead.
I did a huge haul.
My cart was brimming with bags, my back was sore from stretching into the freezer aisle for the buy-one-get-one pizzas Greg insists on having in the house.
I had heavy bags, a gallon of milk, and because I was feeling ambitious—or maybe just foolish—I’d grabbed a giant watermelon that was on sale.
By the time I loaded the last bag into the cart, I could feel the fatigue settling into my bones.
The thought of dragging everything to the far corner of the parking lot for pickup, then from the Uber to the house, made me want to curl up on the floor next to the frozen peas. So I did what any reasonable wife would do: I called my husband.
He answered after a few rings, sounding preoccupied.
“Hey, babe. Can you come pick me up from the store? I might’ve gone a little overboard and the bags are way too heavy,” I said, keeping my tone light.
“Wait… where’s your car?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to risk it. It’s been making that weird rattling noise again, so I took an Uber.”
He sighed. “Ugh, Lauren, I can’t right now. I’m slammed. Just get another Uber or something.”
He sounded like I’d asked him to drive to another state, not five minutes down the road to our local Kroger.
“Seriously? It would only take a few minutes,” I said, clenching my jaw.
“Babe, I said I can’t. I have a million things going on. Just handle it, okay?”
Click.
I stared at my phone, stunned.
Too busy? For a five-minute favor? Really?
I took a breath and began the exhausting task of cramming the groceries into the Uber.
“Need a hand?” an older gentleman asked as he passed.
“No, thank you. I’ve got it,” I said with a forced smile. Inside, I was boiling—because my own husband couldn’t be bothered.
By the time I got home, my arms ached and my mood was dark. The Uber driver was kind enough to help get the bags in his car, but of course, he wasn’t about to carry them to my doorstep.
Not his job.
It should’ve been Greg’s.
But what I saw next?
Took me from tired and annoyed straight to furious.
There was Greg, standing outside.
Lifting boxes.
Hauling suitcases.
Looking like a knight in shining armor, smiling and laughing.
And who was he helping?
Emma. The beautiful new neighbor who had just moved in three doors down.
I’d noticed her moving truck when I left that morning.
I sat frozen in the Uber, watching as Greg carried a box like it was nothing, chuckling at something Emma said, completely carefree while I had to manage a mountain of groceries on my own.
Oh, Greg. You really messed up this time.
I didn’t confront him right then.
No. That would’ve been too easy.
Instead, I took a breath, grabbed the grocery bags, and walked inside like I hadn’t seen a thing.
I needed a strategy.
And I came up with a good one.
As I unpacked, I mentally laid out my plan.
I dropped the watermelon on the counter with a thud. Slammed the milk into the fridge door—the very place Greg always says it shouldn’t go. Didn’t care. Let him fix it.
When I heard the door open about thirty minutes later, I called out, “Hey! I’m home!”
Greg walked into the kitchen, casual as ever, with a little too much pep in his step.
“Hey,” he said. “How was the store?”
“Fine,” I replied, evenly. “Got everything we needed.”
“Did you manage with all those bags?” he asked, grabbing a water bottle.
I smiled tightly. “Yep. The Uber driver helped.”
Still didn’t mention Emma.
As he passed me, I added casually, “By the way, the car’s still making that weird noise. Mind taking a look tomorrow?”
“Yeah, maybe later in the week,” he said, eyes on his phone. “I’ve got a lot going on.”
Right.
The next morning, while Greg was still in bed—he sleeps in late on Sundays—I made a phone call.
To James.
James is our other neighbor, a retired mechanic in his fifties, and the kind of man who never says no to helping his wife. I’ve seen him carry her garden supplies, fix things without being asked, and even hold her purse at events. A gentleman, through and through.
“Morning, Lauren! What’s up?” he answered cheerfully.
“Hey, James. Sorry to bug you, but my car’s making a strange noise, and Greg’s been really busy lately…” I let my voice trail off.
“Say no more! I’ll be right over.”
A couple of hours later, Greg finally wandered out of the house and froze when he saw James under the hood of my car.
I stood beside him, smiling, laughing, twirling my hair.
Greg’s eyes narrowed as he walked over.
“What’s going on?” he asked, arms crossed.
I turned to him, all innocence. “Oh, James offered to take a look since you were so tied up.”
James looked up with a friendly wave. “Hey, Greg! Just helping Lauren with this noise she mentioned. Might be the timing belt.”
Greg clenched his jaw. I could see the tension in his face.
But he said nothing.
Not after he’d just spent yesterday lifting furniture for Emma.
“I could’ve looked at it,” Greg mumbled.
“But you’re always so busy,” I replied sweetly. “I didn’t want to trouble you.”
James shut the hood. “It’s safe to drive for now, but you should have it checked soon. I can give you the number of my guy.”
“Thanks so much, James. I really appreciate it,” I said warmly.
As James walked away, Greg stood there awkwardly in the driveway, shifting his weight, looking equal parts irritated, embarrassed, and—most importantly—guilty.
Exactly what I was going for.
Later that evening, I made a point of acting like everything was perfectly fine.
I didn’t ask Greg for anything.
And I made sure he noticed.