My Husband’s Family Gave Me a Chore List for the Family Vacation—While They Relaxed on the Beach
Instead of a cocktail, Tess is given a chore sheet when she attends her husband’s family holiday. However, she makes a covert getaway that nobody notices as the waves roar outside.
It’s about choosing yourself, rewriting the rules, and truly understanding your worth. Mimosa by mimosa. The moment Diane handed me the laminated sheet, I should have realized something was off. She gave my arm a reassuring pat as we stepped into the beach house, the salt from the dunes still clinging to our skin. “Tess, darling, I put this together to keep everything flowing smoothly.”
At first, I grinned. Foolish. I thought, maybe it’s the Wi-Fi password or a list of local eateries. But no. It was a list of chores.
Color-coded. Divided into days and responsibilities. And whose name appeared more often than anyone else’s?
Mine. Matt’s mother had written, “Tess: meal prep, dinner planning, cleanup, grocery coordination (there’s a local supermarket), laundry, and ironing.”
And her name?
Listed once. To “help with sunscreen application (for grandkids only).”
Her daughters? Well, Lisa had one task: “Organize massages and hair treatments at the spa.”
Audrey’s task? “Call cleaning services for a deep bathroom cleaning.” And Diane, bless her, said sweetly, “You’re so organized,” as if it were a compliment. “And we know how much you love cooking.”
“So, I’m… doing dinner every night?” I blinked slowly, hoping I had misunderstood.
She laughed, “Oh no, not every night!” she said between giggles. “On Tuesday, we’re going out to dinner, and I know Matt will love the beautiful seafood restaurant. You’re off that night.”
I turned to Matt, expecting some sort of response—maybe a laugh, or even a “Mom, really? I’m here to unwind with Tess, too.”
Instead, he gave me a back rub and said, “They’re just trying to make it fair, babe.”
Fair? Yes.
“I’ll show them,” I muttered to myself later that night, standing on the balcony, taking in the sunset.
In that moment, I realized I had two choices. I could go home, or I could stay calm and give them a lesson. I wanted to be here, even though heading home seemed like a tempting alternative. It was beautiful, and I needed a break from our usual routine. As I lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead, its blades slow and lifeless, I could feel Matt’s arm draped across my waist. But instead of comfort, it felt heavy.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how excited I’d been while packing, how I’d imagined leisurely mornings, peaceful afternoon walks, and maybe even treating myself to a new swimsuit. This was my first real trip after getting married.
But here I was—the helper. Diane didn’t even try to hide it. So, the next morning, I played along. While everyone else sipped their coffee and packed up to head to the beach, I prepared a massive brunch spread: pancakes, fruit salad, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and even mushy fruit for Audrey’s baby, Ethan.
Ethan had a habit of pushing toys into his mouth, so I made sure to clean and rinse the sand off of them. I also prepared drinks and snacks for the beach, packing everything neatly into coolers. As Diane strolled out to the terrace with her novel and sunhat, she gave me a cheerful thumbs up.
I stayed behind, watching them through the kitchen window while scrubbing dishes. The children were being looked after by a babysitter that the sisters had hired. Matt was already sipping something sweet and cold through a straw, content.
Audrey was indulging in a foot massage, laughing uncontrollably when the therapist worked on her left leg. Meanwhile, Lisa was snapping pictures of herself in her brand-new red bikini, posing with all the confidence of someone who had no other care in the world.
Diane was also adjusting the umbrella to make sure she didn’t get too much shade. And that’s when it hit me—I wasn’t invited to this family vacation. I was simply asked to serve them.
“Sneaky fools,” I thought to myself as I munched on a dish of watermelon cubes. “You have no idea what’s coming next.” I had no intention of playing housekeeper for ten days in a house where I didn’t even have a place. No way.
Later that night, as I was drying the silverware, Matt came up behind me. He kissed my temple softly and whispered, “Thanks for today. You were amazing.” I stayed silent. I couldn’t answer, because I knew I might burst into tears if I did. Dishwater was the last thing I wanted to cry over. So, I smiled instead. But inside, I was falling apart.
That’s when I came up with a plan.
I sneaked out of bed at the crack of dawn the next morning. Matt wasn’t even in bed—he’d probably passed out there after spending most of the evening sipping beer in front of the TV.
I grabbed my bag and tossed Matt’s extra clothes onto the bed.
I packed the essentials in a smaller bag—some food, the novel I never got around to reading, and sunglasses. Then, I carefully placed the laminated roster on the kitchen counter. Of course, with a few changes. In fact, I rewrote it entirely. This time, I made it fair.
Everyone would take turns cooking, cleaning, and clearing up after themselves, according to my new schedule. I even left helpful instructions on sticky notes and labeled the refrigerator.
Tuesday nights for Diane were now marked as “Taco Duty.” Matt was assigned to do the dishes—three times, to be exact. I even wrote a note underneath the task chart, just to make it crystal clear.
“Guys, thanks for the vacation! To make things equitable for everyone, I’ve reorganized the roster. The updated timetable is on the fridge. I’m looking forward to playing mini-golf with the kids when I visit on Thursday. If you want to have supper, text me—on equal terms, of course.”
On the far side of the resort, near the beach, there was a cluster of suites. When we made our reservation, I’d seen them in the brochure, advertised as peaceful, private, and perfect for couples seeking relaxation.
With the money I’d set aside for Matt’s anniversary gift, I made a reservation. Was a high-end watch really necessary for him?
Not after the two days I’d just had. It wouldn’t be fair to him. From my new room, I could see the ocean. There were fluffy robes waiting for me, and a lovely breakfast buffet downstairs—no need for me to slice melons.
I switched off my phone. For the first time on this trip, I sank into complete peace, reading by the pool with my book, letting the quiet wash over me.
The next day, I was lounging in the sun when one of the resort employees strolled by.
He pointed to the main villa. “Thought you were with the big house group,” he remarked.
“I was,” I shrugged. “But they’re not exactly my vibe.” He chuckled, “Yeah, that tracks. I heard breakfast was a disaster. They had to call the cleaning crew to fix it. The blond woman with the big gold earrings broke the blender. They’re kind of falling apart.”
I could see him fighting back laughter as he bit his lip.
“And that’s why I left for some peace and quiet,” I chuckled.
He grinned. “Then how about another mimosa?”
I smiled and nodded.
It felt like I was on another planet, even though I was technically still on the same resort. Nobody came to check in on me. Nobody asked questions. But the word had spread among the staff, and I caught bits and pieces of it.
Apparently, Diane’s towels had gotten splattered with nail polish.
“Probably Audrey,” I whispered with a grin.
Then, nobody remembered to wipe the grease pan, and the grill almost caught fire. Burned pancakes sent one of the kids into tears. Ethan had been scrambling for his toys when he nearly toppled into the pool. And the laminated roster? According to the concierge, it had been ripped in half and tossed in the trash, ready for the cleanup crew to take care of.
I grinned. Took a sip. Nibbled on some fresh fruit. Then, I turned the page of my book.
On the third day of my escape, Matt showed up at the suite. He looked worn out, his skin red from the sun. He stood at the entrance to the pool area like a nervous child about to apologize to the principal, holding a baseball cap in each hand.
“Tess,” he said slowly, walking toward me. “The things I had to do to bribe the staff to find out where you are! Can we talk?”
With a groan, I rose from my lounge chair and pointed to the empty seat beside me.
He took a seat, not saying anything, just sitting there. It was a full minute before he spoke, his eyes fixed on the ocean.
When he finally said, “I didn’t realize how much they were leaning on you,” I replied, “You didn’t want to see it.” My voice was calm—no anger, just a touch of sadness.
“You’re right,” he nodded, agreeing.
I took a sip of my drink, watching the canopy above me sway lazily in the wind. I continued, “You didn’t even question it. Your mom hands me a chore chart on day one, and your response is to rub my back and call it fair.”
“I thought you’d speak up if you had a problem.”
I gave him a look—a long, serious look. Who was this guy?
“Matt, that’s the point,” I said quietly. “I shouldn’t have to. It’s your responsibility to do it, as my spouse. But I guess my view of marriage was different.”
He looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”
There was nothing more to say. I let the silence hang between us, stretching into the quiet.
After a long pause, he asked, “Can I stay with you?”
“Are you ready to be on my team?” I asked, meeting his eyes. For the first time in days, his gaze was clear. Weary, but sincere.
“Yes,” he said, his voice steady.
I handed him my extra key card without another word. And he stayed. The rest of the trip was ours—like a honeymoon, but not the kind you plan to impress others. It was the kind you take when you finally get real with each other.
With the curtains drawn and the balcony door slightly ajar, the sound of the waves filling the room, we slept in. No to-do list, no alarm clock, and no one waiting for me with scrambled eggs when I woke up. It was just Matt, peacefully dozing next to me, his hand resting on my thigh as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
At the swim-up bar, with cocktails in hand and slushy drinks topped with plastic swords sticking out of pineapples, he told me stories I’d never heard before. He told me about the first time he saw me in the laundry room of our apartment building, how nervous he had been introducing Diane to me, and how, for so long, he thought I’d be the one to soften his family—rather than fight against them. As he spoke, it was as if he was just now realizing it wasn’t fair to expect me to carry that weight alone.
We also chatted about the little things—silly guessing games about the nearby couples, lighthearted debates over whose food tastes were superior. I didn’t have to ask him to massage sunscreen onto my shoulders. When I fell silent, he kissed my neck, a quiet gesture that felt like a promise.
I didn’t laugh with him out of habit or politeness. This time, it was real laughter—the kind that bubbles up from deep inside, like you’ve been holding it in for too long. The sound of something heavy lifting. That made him laugh too.
The Matt I married returned to me. But on the other side, I was different. I was someone who’d learned a few things about herself. And I silently vowed to myself: If he ever slipped away again, if the man who stood by and let me carry a list of chores without a second thought came back, I would leave.
And when? I wouldn’t write a single thing down.
On the morning we left, we returned to the house. Diane barely glanced in my direction. She sipped iced tea and wore a visor, as if nothing had changed.
Diane finally broke the silence later, at the reception, when we were about to check out.
“Well, Tess,” she said in that brittle, bright voice of hers. “I suppose you needed some space.”
I met her gaze squarely and replied, “No, I needed some respect.”
She blinked, the words clearly unfamiliar to her, as if they didn’t quite fit in her world. I didn’t elaborate, though. I just let it hang there, giving her the room to sit with it.
A year has passed. Chore charts are no longer. Schedules are no longer laminated. Matt now makes sure to check in with me before accepting any invitations. “What do you want?” he says. And we don’t go if I say no.
How would you have responded?
