Diana woke up early, as she usually did on Saturday mornings, to begin her list of chores. The sun was bright, birds were chirping, and a gentle breeze blew through the curtains. She stretched her arms wide, feeling ready to tackle the day. Her first task was to tidy up the garden out back, where weeds had started invading and leaves were scattered everywhere.

She went to the kitchen, made herself a quick cup of tea, then peeked into the living room. There, sprawled out on the couch, was her husband, Carl, still in his pajamas. He was flipping lazily through channels on the TV, looking as if he had no care in the world. Diana took a deep breath and walked over to him, tea mug in hand.

“Honey, can you please help me clean the garden?” she asked, trying to keep her voice cheerful.

Carl lifted his head and gave her a slightly annoyed look. “Do I look like a gardener?” he replied with a half-smirk. Then he turned his attention back to the TV.

Diana’s heart sank for a moment, but she forced a small smile. “Okay,” she said softly, “then maybe you can fix the bathroom door instead? It’s been sticking whenever I try to close it, and I’m afraid it’ll break if we don’t fix it soon.”

Carl shrugged, glancing away from the screen just long enough to say, “Do I look like a carpenter?” Then he got up from the couch, slipped on his sandals, and mumbled something about needing fresh air. Without waiting for a response, he headed for the front door.

Diana stood there, both frustrated and sad. She remembered the day they got married. Carl had been so thoughtful and caring, but over time, he seemed to lose interest in helping around the house. Sure, he still worked full-time, but even on weekends, he never offered a hand with household tasks. Still, she tried to stay positive. Maybe he just needed some time to himself. Maybe next week, he would help. She decided to carry on by herself.

Stepping out into the backyard, Diana gathered her gardening gloves, a small shovel, and a rake. The grass was too long in some spots, and the flower beds were choked with weeds. The fence needed cleaning, and leaves were piled everywhere. She sighed, feeling like it was a lot for one person.

Just as she was about to start, she heard a soft whistle from over the fence. It was Mr. Benson, their kind elderly neighbor. He was watering his roses, which bloomed in bright colors that always brightened Diana’s day. “Good morning, Diana!” he called. “Need any help?”

She hesitated, glancing at the mess. “I could sure use some,” she admitted with a laugh that held a trace of embarrassment. “But I don’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Benson said, setting down his watering can. “I love gardening. Let me grab my tools.”

Diana felt relief flood her chest. At least she wouldn’t have to spend hours doing this alone. She and Mr. Benson got to work, chatting about the weather, new cooking recipes, and the neighborhood’s latest news. He pulled weeds while she raked leaves. They pruned overgrown branches, trimmed hedges, and even planted a few new seeds. By lunchtime, the garden looked neat and alive, with a fresh sparkle that made Diana smile.

After a short break to drink some water, Diana picked up her toolbox, determined to tackle the bathroom door. She had never been very handy with tools, but she refused to let that stop her. She walked inside and wrestled with the door a bit, noticing how it stuck in the frame. She tried removing the hinge pins, but they wouldn’t budge. Her arms felt like jelly after just a few attempts.

Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her. “Need a hand, dear?” She turned to see another neighbor, Connie, who lived down the street. Connie was known for her handy skills around the neighborhood—she often helped fix broken fences or squeaky doors for people on their block.

“That would be amazing, Connie,” Diana said, feeling relief again. “I think the hinge is warped. I’m not sure how to correct it.”

Connie smiled, setting down her own bag of groceries. “No problem, let’s see what we can do.” She examined the hinge and the frame carefully. Then she took a small hammer and a screwdriver, tapping gently to loosen the pins. “Here,” she said, “help me hold the door steady.”

For the next thirty minutes, Connie guided Diana through sanding down the edge of the door and adjusting the hinges so it wouldn’t stick anymore. By the time they finished, the door swung smoothly, no longer making that dreadful scraping sound.

Diana thanked Connie over and over. Connie just laughed. “I’m glad to help,” she said before heading off with her groceries.

Later that day, Diana heard the front door open. Carl walked in, looking satisfied, as if his little adventure outside had gone perfectly. He kicked off his sandals, then wandered into the kitchen for a drink. “So,” he said casually, “how was your day?”

Diana followed him, leaning on the counter. “Fine,” she said simply. “The garden is all clean now, and the bathroom door is fixed.”

Carl’s eyes lit up with an air of triumph. “I knew you would do it all by yourself,” he said with a slight smirk. “See? You didn’t need me after all.”

Diana gave him a long, steady look. “I didn’t do it myself,” she said slowly. “It was Mr. Benson who helped in the garden, and Connie helped fix the door. They both offered a hand when you weren’t here.”

Carl blinked, confusion crossing his face. “Wait, what?” he asked. “You had neighbors helping you do my chores?”

“They weren’t your chores, they were our chores,” Diana corrected gently. “But yes, Mr. Benson did the heavy work in the garden, and Connie took care of the door. They did what you wouldn’t.”

Carl looked uncertain, perhaps a bit embarrassed. He swallowed. “I… I see,” he mumbled.

Diana shrugged. “I’m grateful for their help, but I have to admit, it would’ve meant more if you’d taken part too. Even just a little help, you know?”

Carl’s shoulders slumped. He stood there in silence for a moment, maybe realizing how selfish he’d been. He seemed about to say something, but then changed his mind and just nodded. An awkward tension filled the space between them.

Finally, Carl cleared his throat. “Well, I guess next time, I’ll lend a hand, so we don’t have to rely on neighbors.” Diana offered a small smile, not entirely sure if he meant it or if he was just feeling guilty. Still, it was a start.

That night, as Diana lay in bed, she thought about how wonderful their neighbors had been—so willing to help without complaint. Meanwhile, her own husband needed a push to realize that marriage was a partnership. She hoped he would remember how it felt to come home and find everything done by someone else. Maybe it would spark a change.

Now here is my question: if you were in Diana’s situation and your spouse refused to help around the house, would you let others step in to help, or would you keep waiting for your spouse to finally step up?