I’m Leighton, 32, managing a demanding job and a chaotic home with my 34-year-old husband, Jeff, who’s become obsessed with what a “perfect wife” should be.

Jeff and I both work stressful jobs—his in finance and mine in marketing. But lately, his expectations have been unrealistic. It all started after a dinner at his boss Tom’s place. Tom’s wife, Susan, had a spotless house and a flawless meal ready. Jeff couldn’t stop admiring her.

“You see how Susan manages everything? Maybe you could take some pointers,” Jeff said on the drive home. I tried to stay calm, but the comparisons were relentless. “Susan always looks perfect,” he’d say, while leaving his dirty clothes around and ignoring the laundry basket.

The final straw came one Friday when I found a young woman named Marianne in our kitchen. Jeff introduced her, saying she was here to teach me how to clean and cook properly. Marianne looked uncomfortable, but Jeff insisted, “She’s here to help you get up to speed.”

I was livid but forced a smile. “Thanks for the thought, Jeff.”

Once he left, Marianne and I had a quiet conversation. “I don’t need lessons, but I have an idea. Are you in?” I asked. She agreed, intrigued.

Over the next few weeks, I turned into the perfect housewife. I woke up early, cooked elaborate meals, cleaned obsessively, and greeted Jeff with a forced smile every evening. I was cold and distant, going through the motions without any warmth.

Jeff noticed something was off. “You’ve been quiet lately. Everything okay?” he asked one evening.

I maintained my polite but distant demeanor. “I’m just focusing on the house, like you asked.”

Confused, Jeff commented, “It’s great, but it feels like you’re here but not really here.”

One night, after a silent dinner, I placed a neatly folded piece of paper on the table. “I’ve decided to quit my job and focus on being the perfect housewife,” I said.

Jeff was stunned. “You’re quitting your job?”

I nodded. “Yep, but I’ll need to be compensated. Susan doesn’t work, and Tom supports her. Here are my terms.”

I handed him a contract outlining my “salary.” Jeff’s face turned from confusion to outrage. “You want me to pay you?”

I replied, “If you want perfection, it comes at a price. If not, I’ll stop.”

Jeff was flustered, realizing he’d created a mess. “I never asked you to quit your job!”

I calmly responded, “Exactly. And now you see what it feels like. Either start contributing more, or hire Marianne full-time.”

Jeff changed his attitude after that. He never agreed to pay me, but he stopped complaining. He began doing his share of chores and cooking. The comparisons to Susan ceased, and our home life improved.

Jeff learned that the fantasy of a perfect wife wasn’t as sweet as reality. He needed a partner, not a maid, and if it took a fake contract to get there, it was a lesson worth teaching.