When I arrived at my pregnant sister’s house, I never expected her husband to treat her like a servant. But what I did next, with the help of a watermelon and a crazy bet, changed everything.
What do you do if you visit your sister, who is nine months pregnant, and see that she is being treated like a servant?
This happened to me when I was on a business trip and had to spend a few nights at my sister’s house.
As soon as I walked through the door, I knew something was wrong. Lily, my dear sister, was hobbling around with a belly that looked like it was about to burst.
Her face was pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes like twin shadows. I could practically see the exhaustion radiating from her.
Meanwhile, her husband, let’s just call him ‘Mark’ to protect the innocent (or not so innocent, in this case), was sprawled out on the sofa, holding a controller and glued to the TV screen.
Then I understood the reason for my sister’s exhaustion. On the very first evening, I saw for myself how Mark treated her like a queen.
Dinner was served. It was a simple pasta dish, which Lily had clearly put a lot of effort into, despite her condition.
But Mark took one bite, wrinkled his nose and said, “Ugh, it’s cold. I’ll take it upstairs.”
With that, he grabbed his plate and disappeared up the stairs. Soon we could hear the sounds of his video game.
Lily, bless her soul, just sighed and began clearing the table.
I watched in bewilderment as she loaded the dishwasher, turned on the washing machine, and began folding a mountain of children’s clothes.
Of course, I helped, but all the while Mark continued his gaming marathon upstairs.
The next morning, after eating burnt toast for breakfast (apparently Lily’s exhaustion had affected her culinary skills), I decided to have a little chat with my brother-in-law.
‘Hi, Mark,’ I began cautiously, ‘I couldn’t help but notice that Lily does a lot around here. Maybe you could help out, especially considering that the baby is coming so soon?’
Mark snorted derisively, not even bothering to look up from his phone. ‘Come on. It’s a woman’s job, you know?’
I felt my blood pressure rising, but I took a deep breath and tried again. ‘I’m just saying, maybe you could wash the dishes or help assemble the crib? It’s not rocket science.’
Mark finally looked up and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re such a drama queen… Lily likes taking care of me, just like she’ll like taking care of our child. Don’t bring your progressive ideas into my house. My wife is just doing what she’s supposed to do.’
I felt my blood boiling, and I had to fight the urge to throw my coffee in his smug face. But then an idea popped into my head — a plan so absurd, so unusual, that it just might work…
I finished my coffee, put on a fake smile, and said, ‘You know what, Mark? You’re right. Lily really likes taking care of you. So much so that I’m willing to bet you won’t last a day doing everything she does.’
A smirk appeared on Mark’s face. ‘Really? What if I prove you wrong?’
‘Then I’ll be your personal maid for the rest of my life,’ I replied with a broad smile. ‘But if you lose, you’ll have to step up and be the husband Lily deserves. Deal?’
Mark laughed and held out his hand. ‘Deal.’
He didn’t know I had a secret weapon: a watermelon, a roll of plastic wrap, and a lot of determination.
Once the terms of our bet were set, I quickly went to the grocery store, almost jumping with mischievous excitement.
I came back with the biggest, roundest watermelon I could find. I told my sister about my plan and asked her to help me prepare Mark’s ‘pregnancy simulator.’
We cut the watermelon in half, removed the juicy insides (saving them for later, of course), and then carefully wrapped each half in plastic wrap, turning them into bulky, pot-bellied balls. Two, in case we needed to switch them around.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Lily asked, slightly concerned but also amused.
‘Absolutely,’ I replied, putting the finishing touches on the watermelon. ‘It’s time for him to taste his own medicine.’
When Mark came home from work, I handed him the watermelon, explained the situation, and gave him a handwritten list of Lily’s daily chores: laundry, washing dishes, cleaning, tidying up, grocery shopping, cooking, painting the nursery… everything.
Mark just smiled. ‘This will be a piece of cake,’ he said, puffing out his chest.
Lily and I settled down on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn strategically placed between us. The show was about to begin.
And what a show it was!
At first, Mark strode around as if he owned the place, the half watermelon bouncing on his stomach with every step. But soon he realised the reality of the situation.
He bent down to pick up a sock, and the watermelon rolled forward, almost knocking him off balance.
He tried to vacuum, but the extra weight made him waddle like a penguin. When he tried to load the washing machine, the watermelon hit the door, preventing it from closing.
Lily and I couldn’t hold back our laughter.
‘Need some help?’ I asked sweetly, making Lily giggle.
Mark gritted his teeth and muttered something about ‘women’s work’ being easier than it looks.
However, by lunchtime, he was sweating like a pig. The watermelon half left a sticky mark on his shirt, and he moved at a snail’s pace.
It was especially amusing to watch him try to paint the nursery. He stood precariously on the ladder, struggling to support his weight.
Gradually, his bravado began to crumble. The weight of half a watermelon, which was not as daunting as a real pregnant belly, eventually got the better of my son-in-law.
At one point, he even crawled on his hands and knees to wash the bathroom floor, forgetting his earlier self-confidence.
Lily and I exchanged knowing glances. We knew this wasn’t just a silly bet; it was a chance for Mark to finally understand the sacrifices Lily makes every day.
And judging by the pained expression on his face, the lesson was beginning to sink in.
When the sun finally began to set, Mark threw in the towel, both metaphorically and literally. He collapsed onto the sofa, threw the rag on the coffee table, and began to peel half a watermelon.
‘I… I can’t do this,’ he groaned, throwing his head back and tossing the hollow fruit aside. ‘I give up!’
We were silent for just a second until Lily stood up in all her pregnant glory and looked down at her husband.
Mark met her gaze, and his eyes began to well up. ‘Lily,’ he whispered, stunned and tormented. ‘I… I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I couldn’t even imagine how much you do every day.’
Tears welled up in Lily’s eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They sparkled with relief, hope, and the promise of a bright future.
She reached out and gently touched her husband’s cheek.
‘It’s okay,’ she whispered reassuringly. ‘I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But I’m glad you finally understand.’
That evening, I helped Lily clean up the watermelon debris and prepared dinner, observing the changes that had taken place in the house.
For the first time since I arrived, Mark was actually helping around the house. He washed the dishes, folded the laundry, and even managed to assemble the baby’s crib without swearing (which, in my opinion, was a minor miracle).
The transformation was instantaneous and certainly welcome. Mark became Lily’s devoted assistant and could anticipate her needs before she even uttered a word.
He cooked, cleaned, massaged her swollen feet, and even repainted the nursery in a soothing pastel blue, covering up his previous attempts.
When Lily went into labour a few days later, Mark was her rock. He held her hand, spoke words of comfort, and even shed a few tears of his own when their beautiful baby girl was born.
Watching him hold his daughter close, his face glowing with love, I knew that my watermelon experiment had been a success.
The old Mark was gone, replaced by a man who valued his wife and child above all else.
When I was about to leave, Lily hugged me so tightly it hurt my heart. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘You saved our marriage and gave our daughter a father who will love and cherish her forever.’
I hugged her back, and my heart filled with warmth. I knew that people weren’t perfect, and I hoped that Mark would maintain this attitude forever.
But if not, I would return to teach him another lesson, perhaps with a different fruit.
