I Visited My Pregnant Sister, and When I Saw How Her Husband Treated Her, I Taught Him a Lesson

When I arrived at my pregnant sister's residence, I never anticipated witnessing her husband treating her like a household servant. However, my subsequent actions, involving a watermelon and an outrageous wager, transformed the situation completely. What should one do upon visiting a sister who is nine months pregnant and observing her being treated like a housekeeper? This situation confronted me during a business trip that required me to lodge at my sister's home for several nights.

The instant I crossed the threshold, I sensed something was amiss. Lily, my beloved sister, was moving slowly with a stomach that appeared ready to deliver. Her complexion was wan, and prominent dark rings circled her eyes like paired umbras. The fatigue seemed to emanate from her body. Simultaneously, her spouse - whom I'll identify as "Mark" to shield the guiltless (or perhaps not-so-guiltless in this instance) - was stretched out on the sofa, gaming device in hand and attention fixed on the television screen.

At that moment, I identified the source of my sister's weariness. That very first night, I directly observed Mark's regal expectations. The evening meal was provided. It consisted of a basic pasta creation that Lily had evidently worked hard to prepare, despite her pregnant state. Yet Mark consumed a single mouthful, contorted his face, and stated, "This is cold. I'm taking my food upstairs." With those words, he seized his dish and vanished up the staircase.

Shortly after, the noise of his video game resonated downward. Lily, bless her heart, merely exhaled and began to clear the dining surface. I watched, stunned, as she subsequently filled the dishwasher, activated the laundry machine, and commenced folding a vast collection of infant clothing. I assisted, naturally, but throughout this period, Mark maintained his gaming session upstairs.

The following day, over a breakfast of overcooked toast (evidently, Lily's exhaustion was impacting her cooking abilities), I determined to speak with my sister's husband. "Mark," I started carefully, "I've noticed Lily handles numerous tasks here. Perhaps you could assist, particularly with the baby arriving so soon?"

Mark dismissed this with a laugh, not even bothering to look away from his mobile device. "It's feminine responsibility, isn't it?" I felt my anger increasing, but inhaled deeply and attempted once more. "I simply suggest you might wash dishes or assemble the infant bed. It's not particularly complicated."

Mark finally raised his eyes and viewed me sternly. "You're exaggerating... Lily takes pleasure in caring for me, just as she will enjoy nurturing our child. Don't introduce your modern ideologies into my home."

My wife merely performs her expected duties." My anger surged and I restrained my impulse to splash my coffee onto his arrogant expression. Yet, a concept started to develop in my thoughts, a strategy so absurd, so extraordinary, that it could potentially succeed.

I consumed my coffee, displayed a counterfeit grin, and stated, "Actually, Mark, your point is valid. Lily does gain satisfaction from looking after you. So much that I bet you couldn't endure one day completing all her tasks."

A smug look emerged on Mark's face. "Is that so? And what if I demonstrate you're incorrect?"

"I'll serve as your personal assistant forever," I responded with a broad smile. "But should you fail, you must improve and become the partner Lily merits. Agreed?"

Mark chuckled and offered his hand. "Agreed."

He remained unaware that I had a hidden tactic prepared: a watermelon, plastic wrapping material, and substantial resolve.

With our wager conditions established, I quickly visited the supermarket, almost dancing with playful delight. I returned carrying the largest, most circular watermelon available. I informed my sister about my scheme and requested her assistance in creating Mark's "pregnancy simulator."

We divided the watermelon into halves, removed the moist interior (reserving it for later consumption), and meticulously encased each section in plastic wrap, converting them into unwieldy stomach-like shapes. We prepared two versions in case a replacement became necessary.

"Are you confident about this plan?" Lily inquired, slightly concerned yet also entertained.

"Completely," I affirmed, adding final adjustments to the watermelon. "It's appropriate that he experiences his own behavior."

Upon Mark's return from employment, I showed him the watermelon, explained the basic concept, and provided a handwritten catalogue of Lily's routine responsibilities: washing clothes, cleaning dishes, operating the vacuum cleaner, washing floors, procuring groceries, preparing meals, painting the baby's room... everything.

Mark simply snickered. "This will be simple," he boasted, expanding his chest.

Lily and I positioned ourselves on the sofa with a container of popped corn strategically placed between us. The performance was about to commence.

Initially, Mark moved confidently around the house, the watermelon half bobbing against his stomach with every movement. However, soon the genuine challenge became evident. He leaned forward to retrieve a lone sock, and the watermelon swung ahead, nearly causing him to lose stability. He tried to use the vacuum cleaner, but the additional weight forced him to wobble like a penguin.

When he attempted to operate the laundry machine, the watermelon continuously knocked against the entrance, making it impossible to shut.

Lily and I erupted in laughter. "Do you require assistance?" I asked in a sugary voice, causing Lily to giggle. Mark clenched his teeth and mumbled something about "feminine tasks" being harder than anticipated.

By midday, he was perspiring heavily. The watermelon section had left a gluey mark on his clothing, and he moved extremely slowly.

Watching him try to apply paint to the baby room was particularly amusing. He stood precariously on a small ladder and struggled to maintain his equilibrium. As the day progressed, his confidence gradually diminished. The burden of the watermelon half, which was lighter than an actual pregnancy stomach, finally exhausted my sister's husband.

At one instance, he was even creeping on all fours to clean the bathroom floor, forgetting his earlier arrogance. Lily and I shared understanding looks. We recognized this was beyond a foolish challenge; it represented an opportunity for Mark to comprehend the daily sacrifices Lily made.

Judging from his pained facial expression, the message was beginning to register. When evening approached, Mark conceded defeat, both figuratively and literally. He fell onto the sofa, tossed the cloth onto the table, and started removing his watermelon half.

"I cannot continue," he moaned, leaning back after discarding the hollow fruit. "I surrender!"

We remained quiet briefly before Lily rose in her pregnant magnificence and gazed down at her spouse.

Mark's eyes met hers, and tears formed in his. "Lily," he said hoarsely, beaten and tired. "I deeply regret this. I had no awareness. I never appreciated how much you accomplish daily."

Tears gathered in Lily's eyes, but they represented relief, not sadness. They glinted with hope and the promise of improved circumstances. She extended her hand and softly touched her husband's face.

"It's fine," she murmured, comfortingly. "I understand you didn't intend to cause pain. But I'm pleased you finally comprehend."

That evening, I helped Lily dispose of the watermelon remnants and prepared dinner while observing the transformation throughout the house. For the initial time since my arrival, Mark actually participated in household duties.

He handled the dishes, arranged laundry, and even constructed the infant's bed with minimal profanity (a small miracle, by my standards). The change happened quickly and it received positive reception.

Mark evolved into Lily's committed assistant and could predict her requirements before she voiced them. He prepared meals, tidied the house, kneaded her puffy feet, and even recoated the nursery in a serene pastel blue, concealing his previous effort.

When Lily began experiencing contractions a few days afterward, Mark provided solid support. He clasped her hand, delivered consoling words, and even spilled tears when their lovely baby girl came into the world. Observing him hold his daughter, his face glowing with affection, I realized my watermelon strategy had succeeded. The previous Mark had disappeared and been substituted by a man who valued his wife and child above everything.

As I readied for departure, Lily enveloped me in a tight embrace. "I appreciate this," she whispered close to my ear. "You rescued our union and provided our daughter with a father who will always adore and treasure her."

I returned her hug, warmth flowing through my heart. I understood humans had flaws, and I wished Mark would maintain this attitude permanently. But if not, I would return to teach him another lesson; possibly, with a different fruit.