Neglected Housewife Novels & Stories

Ambitious little thing, isn’t she? ‘To say the least.’ Her voice was deliberately curt. To her mind, there was nothing to recommend the woman; certainly, in comparison to her own beautiful and cultured daughter, Nina, the housekeeper failed miserably in comparison. But she had heard that a man got used to the convenience of sex once he was married. If something happened to the wife, often the man remarried in about a year’s time presiunably to recover all the comforts a wife could provide him.

She went about her day’s work while waiting for the arrival of her husband. *** Day by Day, Nicholas only got worse. He kept working late nights regularly, and nowadays he barely comes home, and the few times he does, he is drunk out of his mind. He would only drag himself up the stairs, not even minding his wife's greetings. Only for Mary to wake up the next day to see that he was gone. And the scenario would repeat itself the next day. Her books and the paper on the drawing board were her only companions in the huge mansion. She had tried to ignore the ache in her heart whenever she thought of Nicholas.

> "I'm the cold, detached wife. I'm the emotionally unavailable physician who spent more time in the trauma bays than in her own home. I was entirely too focused on my own career advancement to notice a lonely, neglected husband." Thelma looked utterly crushed. The absolute silence that followed was all the confirmation I required. I nodded slowly, the pieces of the puzzle locking into perfect alignment. The script practically wrote itself. The highly successful, unyielding female doctor; the busy, neglectful mother; the tragic, cast-aside husband who simply fell into the arms of a warm, supportive young woman. You could almost hear the whispers spreading through the manicured lawns of River

All added together, it totaled up to fifty-three dollars. I did not manage to contact Elena. I hurriedly handled Mom’s funerary affairs and rushed over to my job cleaning windows. My wage of three hundred dollars was enough to last our family of three a good few meals. That was why my heart shattered when I saw Elena in this opulently appointed five-star hotel. Was this woman, who spent money like water, the same woman as my wife Elena? The woman who had been dressed in mended clothes and ate only the simplest fare with me just the day before?

Every day, she has to do all the household chores, which are obviously very tiring, but Zavier never appreciates them at all. Am I just considered a maid to him? Nayla couldn't stop asking herself because of her unclear presence in this luxurious house. She felt completely trapped in this luxurious house ever since she married Zavier. Her days were filled only with all the household chores that never seemed to end. With a sorrowful face, Nayla stood up and walked slowly towards her room. She started taking out her suitcase and pulling out some of her clothes from the closet. She has been trying to hold on for the past two years because she couldn't do much.

Could what he suggested truly be the only way out of their situation? The thought unsettled her. She didn’t want to do it—every instinct in her resisted—but guilt gnawed at her. August had given her so much: stability, comfort, a family name to stand on when she had none. Perhaps she owed him this much. She stopped, pressing her palm against the dresser, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked pale, thinner than she remembered, the weariness of the past three years etched in the faint lines around her eyes. Three years… The words echoed in her mind like a tolling bell. Three years of marriage. Three years of trying. Three years of unanswered prayers.

He strode off the house and she opened her closet to choose a dress for tonight. She had a lot of dresses that she hadn’t worn since her husband rarely took her out. Her life was limited to making food for Michael and spending days all alone in the house. And with time, her interest in the dresses and makeup had only faded away as her husband had made her believe that she is ugly and a burden.

After he had lost his job, he slowly became a house husband while his wife became the breadwinner, and then he could see how irresponsible his wife had been towards their daughter, Tullah. Mrs. Naomi being the vicious kind of a person, took the opportunity to turn her husband into a slave but as nature may have it, Mr. Richard, who is more learned than his wife, got his ways of putting her back to her place through what turned out to be the hardest tasks in his life.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she swiftly brushed them away. "I might have lost his love, I might have lost being someone he loves, but I can never lose being his wife to that fraud. I can't lose the comfort, connection, and financial security his wife will bring to my family's company," Flora muttered to herself, abandoning the facade of innocence. With clenched fists, she crossed the threshold, overhearing David's conversation with his mother.

"Separate bedroom. Separate schedule. You will manage the household duties. You will attend events when required. You will exist in this house as a ghost." "And if I break any of these terms?" I asked quietly. "Then I destroy you," Miguel said simply. "Completely and utterly. Do you understand?" I nodded. "One year, Mara," he said, moving toward the door. "You have one year to survive this. And then you're free. But until then, you belong to me. You belong to this house. You belong to this marriage. And you will do exactly what I tell you to do."