He didn’t even blink when I brought it up. I felt trapped, but I wasn’t going to give in. If they wanted to play this game, I’d play—on my terms.
The next morning, I woke at 6 a.m., as the rules said. I put on makeup and a nice dress, chuckling quietly at how absurd this was. If Greer wanted me to follow her rules, I’d do it with a twist.
I made breakfast: one tiny slice of plain toast and an unseasoned boiled egg, plopped on Bram’s huge blue plate. It looked laughable. I set it on the table, smiling sweetly as Bram walked in, rubbing his eyes.
He stared at the plate, confused. “Is this it?”
I shook my head, all innocence. “Just following the rules.
Want another slice?”
He sighed, picking up the toast. “No, it’s fine.”
I watched him chew the blandest meal ever, barely hiding my grin. This was going to be fun.
That afternoon, I made a big show of going grocery shopping. I grabbed my bags and marched out, making sure Bram saw me leave alone, per the rules. When I returned, I lugged every heavy bag in by myself.
Bram watched from the couch, looking uneasy but staying quiet. As I unpacked, he frowned. “Where’s the beer?”
“Didn’t forget it,” I said brightly.
“Just didn’t want you getting lazy. Sparkling water’s healthier!”
I pulled out sparkling water, green juice, and quinoa—stuff I knew he’d hate. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.
He was starting to sense something was off, but I was just getting started. After dinner, I “cleaned” the kitchen. Instead of putting things back, I mixed it all up—plates in the bathroom cupboard, utensils in the laundry room, toaster in the hall closet.
Bram walked in, puzzled. “Why’s everything everywhere?”
I frowned, fake-worried. “I’m trying so hard!
Maybe I need to wipe the counters three times?”
He blinked, lost, but let it go. I was just warming up. When Bram’s friends came for football night, I leaned into the modesty rule.
I wore a long skirt, high-collared blouse, and a cardigan fit for a nun. I looked like I’d stepped out of the 1800s. I carried a tray of snacks into the living room.
His friends glanced at me, confused but too polite to comment. Bram pulled me aside, whispering, “You don’t have to dress like that.”
I batted my eyes. “But your mom said I need to be modest.
We don’t want them thinking I’m not the right kind of wife, do we?”
His friends swapped awkward looks. Bram’s face was priceless—he knew I was flipping the script, and he had to play along. For laundry day, I washed all his clothes in one load—whites, darks, colors.
His crisp shirts turned pink, and his socks were tiny or mismatched. The next morning, he opened his drawer, pulling out one pink shirt after another. “What happened to my clothes?”
“Oh no!” I said, faking worry.
“I must’ve messed up. I’ll fold the socks in threes next time, like the rules say.”
He groaned, shoving on mismatched socks before heading to work, defeated. I couldn’t help but smile.
By the end of the week, Bram was done. He was eating another boring breakfast when Greer showed up, smiling like everything was perfect. She sat at the table, looking pleased.
“Ryn, I’m so glad you’re following the rules! Isn’t life better this way?”
I laughed softly. “Oh, Greer, you have no idea.”
Bram slammed his fork down, startling us.
“Mom, we need to talk.”
Greer blinked. “About what?”
“These rules are ridiculous,” he said, voice rising. “I’m miserable, Ryn’s miserable, and this isn’t how we’re living our lives.”
Greer looked shocked.
“But, Bram, I just want you taken care of! This is how marriage works.”
“No, it’s not,” Bram said firmly. “Ryn isn’t my maid, and I’m not a kid who needs everything done for him.
These rules are outdated and crazy. We’re building our own family, our way—not with your rules.”
Greer froze, speechless. She hadn’t expected him to push back.
I smiled, feeling lighter. I grabbed the fancy box from the counter and handed it back to Greer, with a note inside: “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Greer left quietly, her influence over our marriage gone. I turned to Bram.
He wrapped an arm around me, smiling. “Sorry I didn’t speak up sooner.”
I leaned into him, heart lighter. “Better late than never.”
And with that, we started building our marriage—free of lists, rules, and old-fashioned expectations.
