What are you supposed to do when you visit your sister, who is nine months pregnant, and see her being treated like a maid?

This happened to me while I was traveling for work and had to spend a few nights at my sister’s place.

The moment I stepped through the door, I knew something was wrong. Lily, my dear sister, was waddling around with a belly that looked ready to burst.

Her face was pale, and dark circles hung under her eyes like twin shadows. I could practically see the exhaustion radiating off her.

Meanwhile, her husband, let’s just call him “Mark” to protect the innocent (or not-so-innocent, in this case), was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, and eyes glued to the TV screen.

That’s when I realized the root of my sister’s exhaustion. The very first evening, I witnessed firsthand Mark’s royal treatment.

Dinner was served. It was a simple pasta dish that Lily had clearly put effort into, despite her condition.

But Mark took one bite, wrinkled his nose, and declared, “Ugh, this is cold. I’m taking this upstairs.”

With that, he grabbed his plate and disappeared up the stairs. Soon enough, the sounds of his video game echoed down.

Lily, bless her soul, simply sighed and started clearing the table.

I watched in disbelief as she then loaded the dishwasher, switched on the washing machine, and began folding a mountain of baby clothes.

Of course, I helped, but this entire time, Mark continued his gaming marathon upstairs.

The next morning, over a breakfast of burnt toast (apparently, Lily’s exhaustion was affecting her culinary skills), I decided to have a little chat with my brother-in-law.

“Hey, Mark,” I began cautiously, “I couldn’t help but notice Lily’s doing a lot around here. Maybe you could lend a hand, especially with the baby coming so soon?”

Mark scoffed, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “Oh, come on. It’s a woman’s job, you know?”

I could feel my blood pressure rising, but I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m just saying, maybe you could do the dishes or help put together the crib? It’s not exactly rocket science.”

Mark finally glanced up and narrowed his eyes. “You are such a drama queen… Lily enjoys taking care of me, just like she will enjoy taking care of our kid. Don’t bring your progressive stuff into my house. My wife simply does what she is supposed to.”

I felt my blood boil and had to fight the urge to throw my coffee in his smug face. But then, an idea began to form in my mind, a plan so ridiculous, so outlandish, that it just might work…

I finished my coffee, plastered a fake smile on my face, and said, “You know what, Mark? You’re right. Lily does enjoy taking care of you. So much so that I bet you couldn’t last a day doing everything she does.”

A smirk spread across Mark’s face. “Oh really? And what happens if I prove you wrong?”

“Then I’ll be your personal maid for the rest of my life,” I replied, smiling widely. “But if you lose, you have to step up and be the husband Lily deserves. Deal?”

Mark laughed and extended his hand. “Deal.”

Little did he know, I had a secret weapon waiting in the wings: a watermelon, a roll of plastic wrap, and a lot of determination.

***

With the terms of our bet set, I made a quick trip to the grocery store, almost skipping with mischievous glee.

I returned with the biggest, roundest watermelon I could find. I told my sister all about my plan and enlisted her help in preparing Mark’s “pregnancy simulator.”

You see, we cut the watermelon in half, scooped out the juicy insides (saving them for later, of course), and then carefully wrapped each half in plastic wrap, transforming them into cumbersome belly-like orbs. Two in case, we needed to switch them later.

“Are you sure about this?” Lily asked, slightly worried but also amused.

“Absolutely,” I replied, giving the watermelon some finishing touches. “It’s time he got a taste of his own medicine.”

When Mark arrived from work, I presented the watermelon, told him the gist, and gave him a handwritten list of Lily’s daily tasks: laundry, dishes, vacuuming, mopping, grocery shopping, meal prep, nursery painting… the works.

Mark just chuckled. “This is gonna be a piece of cake,” he declared, puffing out his chest.

Lily and I settled onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn strategically placed between us. The show was about to begin.

And what a show it was!

At first, Mark strutted around like he owned the place, the watermelon half bouncing on his belly with each step. But it wasn’t long before the reality of the situation set in.

He bent over to pick up a stray sock, and the watermelon swung forward, nearly knocking him off balance.

He attempted to vacuum, but the extra weight made him waddle like a penguin. When he tried to load the washing machine, the watermelon kept bumping against the door, preventing it from closing.

Lily and I couldn’t contain our laughter.

“Need some help?” I called out sweetly, making Lily chuckle.

Mark gritted his teeth and muttered something about “women’s work” being easier than it looked.

However, by lunchtime, he was sweating like a pig. The watermelon half had left a sticky residue on his shirt, and he was moving at a snail’s pace.

The sight of him trying to paint the nursery was particularly entertaining. He stood dangerously on a stepladder and could barely balance his weight.

As the afternoon wore on, his bravado slowly crumbled. The weight of the watermelon half, which wasn’t as bad as a real pregnancy belly, finally took its toll on my brother-in-law.

At one point, he was even crawling on his hands and knees to scrub the bathroom floor, forgetting his early cockiness.

Lily and I exchanged knowing glances. We knew this was more than just a silly bet; it was a chance for Mark to finally understand the sacrifices Lily made every day.

And judging by the pained expression on his face, the lesson was starting to sink in.

When the sun finally began to set, Mark threw in the towel, metaphorically and literally. He collapsed onto the couch, threw the rag onto the coffee table, and started removing his watermelon half.

“I… I can’t do it,” he groaned, putting his head back after throwing the hollow fruit away. “I give up!“

We were silent for only a second before Lily stood in all her pregnant glory and looked down at her husband.

Mark’s gaze met hers, and his eyes started watering. “Lily,” he croaked, defeated and exhausted. “I… I’m so sorry. I had no clue. I never realized how much you do every single day.”

Tears welled up in Lily’s eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They shimmered with relief, hope, and the promise of a brighter future.

She reached out and gently cupped her husband’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, soothingly. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But I’m glad you finally understand.”

That night, I helped Lily clean up the watermelon wreckage and made dinner while witnessing the change that swept through the house.

For the first time since I’d arrived, Mark actually helped with the chores. He tackled the dishes, folded laundry, and even managed to assemble the baby’s crib without too much cursing (a minor miracle, in my book).

The transformation was instant and it was definitely welcomed. Mark became Lily’s devoted helper and could anticipate her needs before she even uttered a word.

He cooked, cleaned, massaged her swollen feet, and even repainted the nursery a calming pastel blue, covering up his earlier attempt.

When Lily’s contractions started a few days later, Mark was a pillar of support. He held her hand, offering words of comfort, and even shed a few tears of his own when their beautiful baby girl entered the world.

Watching him cradle his daughter, his face beaming with love, I knew my watermelon experiment had worked.

The old Mark was gone and replaced by a man who cherished his wife and child above all else.

As I prepared to leave, Lily wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you,” she breathed into my ear. “You saved our marriage and gave our daughter a father who will love and cherish her always.”

I hugged her back, warmth flooding my heart. I knew people weren’t perfect, and I hoped Mark would keep this attitude forever.

But if not, I would be back to give him another lesson; perhaps, with another fruit.

Click here to read another story about a woman whose pregnant daughter turned her into a personal servant, but she then discovered a huge lie.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the