When I walked into the kitchen, I never expected to see a poster of my husband’s ex-wife plastered on our fridge. What started as a cruel attempt to “motivate” me spiraled into a plan that made him regret it deeply.

I woke up that morning feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. Ava had kept me up all night, and I was a mess. I dragged myself to the kitchen, hoping for a moment of peace with my coffee.

But what I saw on the fridge froze me in my tracks — a big print of Monica, Eric’s ex-wife, staring back at me.

“Morning, babe,” Eric said, not even looking up from his phone.

“Don’t call me babe. What the heck is this?” I asked, pointing at the picture, my voice trembling.

He glanced at the thing, then back at me, casually. “Just a little motivation for you. So you remember what a real woman is supposed to look like.”

I couldn’t believe it. The gall of this man. I felt rage boiling inside me, but words failed me. I just stood there, dumbfounded, as he took a sip of his coffee like nothing had happened.

“You can’t be serious, Eric,” I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, not even bothering to look at me. “I just thought it might help. You know, get you back into shape. For your own good.”

I walked out of the kitchen. I couldn’t let him see me cry. Ava started fussing in the living room, pulling me back into my daily routine. I felt so powerless, stuck in this cycle of feeding, changing, and trying to comfort her.

Later, while Ava napped, I sat on the couch and stared at my phone, Eric’s words ringing in my head.

What did he know about real women? About real struggles? I felt a surge of anger. He needed to understand the depth of his cruelty. That’s when an idea began to form.

I pulled up Monica’s number. We’d never been close, but we’d met a few times, enough to be civil. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the call button, but then I thought of that picture of her on the fridge, of Eric’s smug face. I pressed call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Monica. It’s Jane. I… I need your help.”

Monica was silent for a moment, probably as shocked as I was to hear my own voice. “Jane? What’s going on?”

I told her everything. From the sleepless nights with Ava to the insulting poster in the kitchen. She listened quietly, and when I finished, there was a long pause.

“That’s… That’s unbelievable,” she finally said, anger tinting her voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“I want you to come stay with us. Just for a little while. I want Eric to see what it’s like to live with his ‘ideal’ woman again.”

Monica laughed, a bitter sound. “Oh, I’d love to. Let’s give him a taste of his own medicine.”

We spent the next hour planning. Monica would move in for a few days while I took Ava to my parents’. I’d make sure everything was ready, and Monica would arrive just as I was leaving.

The day came quickly. I packed a bag for me and Ava, making sure to jamn in all the baby stuff. Eric came home as I was finishing up, looking confused.

“What’s going on?” he asked, seeing the packed bags.

“We’re going to my parents’ for a few days,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can handle things here, right?”

He frowned, but before he could argue, the doorbell rang and he stepped away to answer it. Monica stepped inside, suitcase in hand, much to Eric’s surprise.

“Monica?” Eric’s eyes widened.

“Hey, Eric,” Monica said with a smirk. “Jane invited me to stay for a bit.”

He looked between us, baffled. “What’s going on?”

“Just thought you might enjoy some company,” I said, kissing Ava’s forehead. “See you in a few days.”

With that, I walked out, leaving Eric standing there with his mouth open and Monica looking like the cat that got the cream. I felt triumphant as I drove to my parents’.

This had to work. I needed Eric to understand the depth of his cruelty, to feel the sting of his own actions. It had to show Eric just how wrong he’d been, how much he had hurt me with his thoughtless arrogance.

And maybe, just maybe, it would make him regret ever putting up that picture, making him realize that love and respect meant more than any superficial ideal.

Monica would sleep in the guest room, and she planned to make Eric’s life hell — leaving messes, criticizing him, demanding attention — everything he thought he wanted. And maybe, just maybe, it would make him regret ever putting up that picture, making him realize that love and respect meant more than any superficial ideal.

The drive to my parents’ house was quiet, Ava dozing in the backseat. I couldn’t shake the image of Eric’s face when he found Monica at the front door. I hoped this would be the wake-up call he needed.

***

The next morning, Eric was greeted by a sight he never expected — Monica, standing in our kitchen, making coffee, and a huge mess.

“Good morning,” she said cheerily, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Monica? What are you still doing here?” Eric looked around, confused, probably hoping she would say it was all a hoax. “Ha ha, is this all some sort of joke?”

“Didn’t you listen? Jane invited me to stay for a bit,” she said, smiling sweetly. “This is no joke, guy, get with the program.”

Eric stood there, dumbstruck. “Uh, what?”

The first day was a disaster for Eric. Monica was everywhere, leaving dishes in the sink, clothes on the floor, and criticizing everything he did. “Eric, you used to be better at this. What happened?”

By the second day, Eric was frantic. He called me several times, each voicemail more desperate than the last. “Jane, please come home. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I miss you and Ava. Please, just come back.”

I listened to his messages, sitting in my childhood bedroom with Ava asleep beside me. I felt satisfied, but also somewhat sad. Eric’s superficiality had hurt me deeply, but his growing desperation showed he was beginning to understand.

My parents were my rock during those days. “You need to decide what’s best for you and Ava,” my mom said, holding my hand. “But remember, you deserve to be treated with respect.”

On the third day, I decided it was time to go back. Eric needed to face me, and I needed to see if he had really changed. I packed our things and drove home, my heart racing the whole way.

When I walked in, the house was a mess. Eric was slumped on the couch, looking utterly defeated. He jumped up when he saw me, relief flooding his face.

“Jane, I’m so sorry,” he began, his voice cracking. “I was a jerk. I didn’t realize how much I hurt you.”

I took a deep breath. “Eric, it’s not just about the picture. It’s about respect. I need to know that you see me for who I am, not who you want me to be.”

He nodded. “I know. Monica also helped me see how wrong I was. I don’t want to lose you, Jane. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

We sat down and had the hardest conversation of our lives. I laid out my expectations — respect, partnership, and genuine support. Eric listened, really listened, for the first time in a long time.

He promised to change, to be the husband and father we needed.

Over the next few weeks, Eric made good on his promises. He took on more parenting duties, allowing me time to care for myself. He supported me emotionally, showing real interest in my well-being.

One evening, we all sat together in the living room. Eric had replaced the poster of Monica with a new photo of us — a family picture taken by a professional just after Jane’s birth. It was a simple gesture, but it meant everything.

“We’re in this together,” Eric said, wrapping an arm around me. “I love you, Jane. For who you are.”

I looked at Ava, playing on the floor, and felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known in a long time. We had a long road ahead, but we were finally moving in the right direction. And for the first time, I believed we could truly be happy.

As the sun set, casting a warm glow over our home, I felt a renewed sense of hope. We were stronger now, having faced our demons. And as we shared a quiet moment of unity, I knew we had turned a corner.

A new beginning. A stronger family. And a love that could weather any storm.

What would you have done?