Discarded Housewife Novels & Stories

Now not only did I do them - they were my whole life! Was I goofing off? No way! There wasn't a job on earth that would have me working this hard! I couldn't believe maintaining one little apartment could be so complicated. Could you imagine a whole house? Talk about the chronic disappointment. You wash clothes, somebody wears them, you make beds, somebody sleeps in them, the more you cook, the more dishes you have to scrub. All your accomplishments reset to zero. How could every housewife in the world live like this? I had sworn that I would never be a housewife!

It had been almost a week since Josephine had left the house with her useless husband. Now Catherine, who used to help with cooking, had left the house and lived with her lover, Chad Marley. “Huh, damn, this house is so uncomfortable to live in. It smells so bad!” she grumbled in disgust as he entered the kitchen. Daisy has never done housework since she married Edmund. For this middle-aged woman, the poor only done housework. Before Jo married Nicko, they used a service to clean the house and do the laundry. But since there was Nicko, Josephine’s husband did everything. Sometimes Daisy cooks, just because she enjoys experimenting with new menus.

Several women gesticulated at her and said, "That’s her, the woman who picked up a wild man a few years back and married him. I heard that the man has also brought with him a man in a vegetative state. In the past few years, she not only has to earn money to support her family but also has to take care of her useless husband. Her family drove her out because they were displeased with her.” "Well, you can’t blame that useless man for having such good looks, can you? If I met a man like that, I’d pick him up and hide him in my house too," a young woman sneered, sounding like sour grapes. The woman did not say anything and went home after picking a basket full of mussels. The woman’s house was

The older woman clasped her hands at her waist and replied in a matter of factly tone, “We’ve discarded them and kept only the essentials." I stared at her, incredulous. “How dare you! You have no right to throw away my personal items!” “No Lux’s things are allowed in this household, Madam,” said the housekeeper in a matter of factly tone. I narrowed my gaze doubtfully. “Are you saying that your boss–my husband–ordered you to ‘trash’ my stuff?” “The Don,” she corrected me with the mimicked superiority of Ralph Virtus. I pushed my face forward in a vexed tilt. “I’m sorry, what?”

I asked as I reached for more potatoes. “Looking after a retired couple,” she replied, sipping from her glass. “They were sweet but cranky—like a married version of the Grinch and his twin. Then they moved into a retirement home, and I was suddenly ‘too expensive.’ So I’m in between jobs.” “You? Expensive?” Jess raised a brow. “You’re a steal.” Maria winked. “I still got it.” We all laughed. The food was too good, “I really needed this,” I said quietly, looking around the table.

She moved the animals to the main kitchen, dirty as they were, because her boss didn’t think it was necessary to wash things before bringing them into the house. The union of Ralph and Rebecca would spell terrible things for the earth. Rebecca’s house was a shithole, her various expensive bags, and perfumes could not cover up that fact. She stacked plates for weeks and just bought new plates instead of washing them, she was that lazy. And Ralph had this huge house and couldn’t be bothered to hire as many caretakers as possible.

She felt homesick, the three of them used to eat here together. Their happy conversation made their food even more delicious. The simple things that had happened throughout their days. Her broken husband, who had been taken away so quickly, her only companion, who had always made her happy, now she would never see him again. When she was done, she cleared away his food. She washed the dishes and dried them. She put the garbage in the house in a big black bag and placed it outside their house for the garbage collectors to pick up. Her work for the day was done.

She handed me a coffee without a word and gave me a look that said everything. The work resumed and it was good work. Real and demanding and exactly the kind of thing I had wanted for myself in the years I spent convincing myself that being a housewife was fulfilling enough. It was not that being a housewife was beneath anyone. It was that I had never chosen it freely. I had fallen into it because someone else's life had needed filling and I was convenient and willing and too in love with the idea of being needed to ask myself what I actually needed. Now I knew.

"Something about her face looks familiar, but there's no way my wife could ever look like that. Vanya doesn't have clothes like that, hell, she doesn't even know how to do her makeup properly." Tracy laughed cruelly. "Bernard, your wife is a pathetic housewife who shops at thrift stores and cuts her own hair. Even in her dreams, she could never look like that goddess over there. That woman probably spends more on her monthly beauty routine than Vanya spends on groceries in a year." I kept walking, letting their words wash over me without feeling any pain. In fact, I felt sorry for them. They were about to learn exactly what this "pathetic housewife" was capable of when she stopped playing th

6:30 AM: Drive him to early chess club. All while Jonathan slept. All while Vivienne probably dreamed of the life she was stealing. All while I funded every moment of it. I closed the laptop. The numbers had told their story. Eight years of marriage. Eight years of being the only one working. Eight years of paying for my own erasure. Tomorrow I'd wake up at 5 AM. I'd make breakfast. Pack lunches. Drive to school. Work all day to pay for a life where I was becoming invisible. But tonight, I knew the truth. The Blackwood fortune was a decade away. The husband who handled finances hadn't earned a penny in eight months. The only thing keeping us afloat was me.