Perfect Housewife Novels & Stories

the young man noticed Alisha his frown was more than a frown it looked like a line, pleased with his mischief, he commented "She's a good wife. She is very beautiful, I was blessed with a real woman." Alisha felt so irritated by that disgusting way of praising a woman, true, she could have such beauty. But, she would be so ¿perfect? she hasn't met anyone in her life who doesn't make a mistake. That young man doesn't know what he's talking about, he's only tempted her wrath. So he cocked a smile.

Lying on the master bed, I propped up my woozy, alcoholic head with one hand while holding the glass with the other. My wedding dress enveloped me in softness and beauty like a lovely cloud. The soft, silky texture of the master bedroom's new bedding was heaven. When I took in the suite's luxuries, I pondered the amount of work it must take to live in such luxury. Perhaps some people are handed down wealth from generation to generation and don't have to work as hard as the rest of us. I inherited nothing but a bunch of used clothes and dinnerware. But I value them just as much. But a little bit of money would have been helpful.

Lillian's POV I am the perfect child. The perfect daughter. The one who never makes mistakes. I am like a puzzle piece that fits perfectly because I always trim away parts of myself that they consider flaws. I follow orders without questioning, for in the Hawthorne household, I am the epitome of perfection. But behind that flawless facade, a dirty secret lies. ***

But the dishes were greasy, so they were so greasy that she hated it, her delicate eyebrows furrowed, she interrupted him: "Don't talk too much, you're old, so you like to talk a lot?" Regardless, he thinks that there are only two people in the house, so he will say a little more so that the house is not too quiet: "I advise you to marry a husband who can cook and wash dishes for you. If you are so clumsy, the house will fall to pieces. I see Peter Wayne seems to know how to cook and makes your body have a little more meat, he probably won't even let you wash the dishes. You're a good husband, so you have to hurry…” Mia clutched the delicately patterned plate, which, of course, was very expe

How he still managed to carry us up the ten floors, without breaking a sweat or out of breath, looking like sex on the legs was beyond me. Hunter sat grumping on the couch like a moody dog looking at me with a pleading face. What the fuck is he pleading for? "Ok, you guys off to sleep" Hunter said in a mom tone making me roll my eyes as if we are gonna listen to this man. My boxes were all over the living room, which were mostly clothes, books, accessories, and my personal stuff. Hunter already set up the kitchen and living room making it cozy and all. I tell you, he is perfect housewife, who wakes up extra early to make breakfast for his husband and children

Chapter 41: The First Taste Emma Caldwell stood barefoot in her sunlit kitchen, the cool tile under her feet doing little to calm the restless heat building inside her. At twenty-six, she was the picture-perfect suburban housewife — soft, feminine curves, gentle hazel eyes, and long chestnut hair usually tied back in a neat ponytail. From the outside, her life looked enviable: a charming two-story house in a quiet, upscale neighborhood, a reliable husband who brought home a steady paycheck, and the kind of stability many women dreamed of.

she said with a small smile, “that one.” I followed her eyes. The title was etched in gold against the faded green cover: The Perfect Wife: Grace in the Eyes of Society. Clara sighed. “It was written by the second wife of Mr. Kingston’s great-great-grandfather.” My brows lifted. “Second wife?” She nodded, looking at the distance. “Yes. The first wife… she was said to be very different. Full of life. Independent. People say she died from a disease, but…” Clara trailed off, as if remembering she wasn’t supposed to say more.

Her voice was light and playful because it had to be. Ethan laughed, leaving a kiss on her temple. "Of course, love. You just need more sleep." But sleep wasn't the problem. Reality was. The house, the life, the husband-it was all too perfect. And perfection, she was starting to realize, was its kind of prison. --- The scent of freshly ground coffee and toasted bread filled the kitchen, blending with the crisp morning air. Ethan sat at the breakfast table, reading the newspaper as he always did, a portrait of effortless domesticity. A plate of eggs and fruit waited for Lena, prepared exactly as she liked.

When I walked out of the funeral home, the Perfect Wife app my boyfriend, Ryan Keller, developed popped up with its 99th penalty notification. [Perfect Wife Score: -3. Reason: Too many calls.] I opened the app. Three years' worth of deductions filled the screen. I lost a point for asking him to pick me up from work in the pouring rain. Apparently, that made me too dependent. Three more disappeared after a fight because I refused to admit I was wrong. According to the app, that made me dishonest. Then there were the ten points I lost because I once asked Mom to pretend she was sick for me. Apparently, that meant she had raised me badly. I scrolled through the list without feeling much o

Simple pleasures of life. And I guess I pass for a good little wife. I pay a maid to keep everything neat and tidy. And, it seems I'm perfect, all my friends say that, so I can get on with my work. I have dedicated workouts to stay cool and fit! I have also maintained a very good social life where we go out, party, and drink with friends. Indeed, Peter has always been at my side. He knows me well, then. He knows this part of my personality.