The Poor Man's Wife Swaps Souls with the Rich Man's Wife

Gwen scowled as she stared at the food on the dining table. There was nothing except fried tofu and leftovers from last night's chili dip.

"Honey, please go buy some eggs. Here's forty-five dollars, it's all I have left," Hans said, handing the cash over to Gwen.

"Eggs again? I'm going to get high cholesterol and break out if I keep eating eggs every single day!" Gwen grumbled.

Hans let out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry that I haven't been able to make you happy."

"Ugh, always with the apologies! Why can't you find a real job instead of slaving away as a construction worker forever?" Gwen snapped.

"I only finished middle school, Gwen. What factory or office would hire someone with just a middle school diploma?" Hans rubbed his chest patiently, trying to stay calm despite his wife's constant scowls and outbursts.

"I regret marrying you, Hans! Look at my face—it's breaking out because I can't afford skincare, and we eat dirt-cheap meals every day. Why don't you just sell your father's house? Tell your mother to move in with your brother!"

"My goodness, Gwen! My mother is your mother-in-law!" Hans reminded her firmly.

"I'm sick and tired of living in poverty with you!" Gwen wailed.

Hans took a deep, patient breath. He felt deeply guilty for bringing his wife into a life of hardship.

"Never grow weary of praying for your husband, Gwen," Hans said softly.

"I pray every day, Hans! I pray for you to get rich quickly, but look at us! The ceilings are leaking, and the paint on the fence and walls is peeling off. Our tab at the local grocery store keeps piling up! I'm embarrassed in front of the neighbors—completely humiliated!"

"But this is our home, and it's honest. Even if the roof leaks, I always fix it, don't I?"

"I want a real home, not a rundown place we barely scrape by to keep!" Gwen shrieked.

Hans wrapped his arms around Gwen, trying to soothe her before she spiraled into another outburst—her desperate yearning to be wealthy taking over again.

"Just be patient. I'm trying to find a job that pays better than basic construction labor," Hans whispered gently into her ear.

"At least become a foreman, Hans! But how could you? You only finished middle school! And you don't even have your diploma because you lost it in the flood! Ugh, you are so frustrating! I was so embarrassed when Mrs. Hannah offered to sell me clothes today. Everyone else bought something while I could only shake my head. Then they mocked me, saying a construction worker's wage couldn't even cover clothes on installment!" Gwen vented endlessly in Hans's embrace.

Hans felt a pang of pity for Gwen. His wife deserved to look beautiful in fine clothes, indulge in daily skincare, and eat wholesome, nutritious food.

"Gwen, an old middle school friend reached out to me yesterday. He works at a major corporation, and he said they're looking for an office custodian. He offered to refer me."

Gwen's tantrum subsided slightly. "A custodian? A janitor who sweeps and cleans?"

Hans nodded.

"That's no different, Hans! It's still low-level manual labor!" Gwen grumbled.

"Conceded, but it pays minimum wage with full benefits. You and I will both get healthcare coverage."

Gwen fell silent. Being an office custodian in a corporate building was still a step up from being a construction laborer making a meager wage each week. Hans was just a handyman's assistant—a errand boy on the site—so his income was far lower than his skilled coworkers.

"When do you start?" Gwen asked.

"I'm waiting to hear back," Hans replied.

"Hear back where? It's not like you have a phone he can call!" Gwen shoved Hans's chest and stormed out of the house, her face twisted in frustration.

Gwen walked past Husna's corner shop, where a small crowd had gathered.

"Gwen! Come over here!" Daisy called out, waving her hand. "Sienna is hosting a gathering at her place the day after tomorrow. She invited all of us!"

Gwen approached the group. Sienna was standing in the middle—the wealthy woman who drove Gwen insane with envy. Flawlessly groomed, dressed in elegant attire, and carrying a wallet that was always bursting with cash.

"Don't forget to come by the day after tomorrow around late afternoon," Sienna said, tilting her chin up with a condescending air before turning to leave. "My mother-in-law just returned from her pilgrimage, so we're having a small gathering and handing out souvenirs."

Gwen watched Sienna walk away with bitter resentment. In Gwen's eyes, Sienna never missed a chance to flaunt her wealth.

"Gwen, what are we going to wear to Sienna's place?" Daisy asked excitedly.

"Whatever!" Gwen muttered, walking away with a heavy heart.

Ignoring Daisy's calls, Gwen kept walking across the large drainage bridge, letting the soft evening breeze cool her flushed cheeks and calm her unsettled mind.

Leaning against the bridge railing, Gwen stared down at the murky river water below. How she wished she could swap husbands—to be married to a wealthy man like Jeff, Sienna's husband.

Fretful and anxious about what to wear to the gathering at Sienna's residence, Gwen unconsciously wandered toward the local market. She simply wanted to browse the latest dresses, even if only to dream.

Realizing she could only look and never buy, Gwen walked with heavy steps, wallowing in regret over marrying Hans. Exhausted, she slumped onto a rickety wooden bench near a stall selling cheap imitation trinkets.

"Pretty lady, come look at my fine wares! I'm sure something will catch your eye," a warm voice greeted her.

Gwen turned her head to see an elderly merchant smiling warmly at her. She offered a half-hearted, weary smile in return.

"Don't bother, old man. Even if they're just imitations, I know your accessories are lovely, but I can't afford any of them. I'd rather save my money for food," Gwen replied softly.

"I have a special comb for you. A very fine one. It costs only five dollars, but this comb will change your life."

Gwen, who had been staring blankly at the ground, frowned. She turned back toward the old vendor, watching as he held up a gleaming golden comb.

"What kind of comb is that? Just gold-plated?" Gwen asked, unenthusiastic yet mildly curious.

"This is real gold. Comb your hair with this golden comb in front of a wealthy person’s vanity mirror, and you will become that wealthy person." The old man spoke with complete seriousness, his eyes locked onto hers.