My Husband’s Overzealous Friend Kept Offering Domestics Help, So I Showed Her the Door

Emily Clarke was standing by the kitchen door while Andrews old school friend, Jane Hart, hovered with an overeager offer to help with the housework.

Emily, I dont mean to be rude, but the extractor fan is covered in such a film of grease you could fry chips on it, Jane said, holding up a bottle of AntiGrease she kept tucked in the back of the pantry because of its harsh smell. Ill give it a quick wipe while the kettles boiling. Youre always buried in work, and Andrew likes everything spotless.

Jane perched on a wooden stool in the centre of the kitchen, a scrubber in one hand and the antigrease spray in the other. She was wearing Emilys favourite lavender apron, looking as if she had been born in that very kitchen and spent the last twenty years there.

Emily, frozen in the doorway with her laptop still open, felt a hot wave of irritation rise in her throat. As the senior accountant for a midsize firm, she was in the thick of quarterend reporting, her mind a swirl of spreadsheets, tax queries and endless phone calls. All she wanted at home was a quiet moment and a cup of tea, not a lecture on domestic duties from Andrews best childhood friend.

Jane, could you please step down? Emily said, her voice strained. I didnt ask for the extractor to be cleaned. I have a cleaning rota, and the kitchen will be tackled on Saturday.

Come off it, Emily! Schedules dont matter when theres grime, Jane replied, flicking her elbow energetically. Her red curls bounced with each gesture. Andrew mentioned his allergies flared up yesterday. Its all dust and grease. Ill sort it out now, then make a proper borscht the kind he loved in school. Youre feeding him processed meals all the time; his stomach cant take it.

Emily closed her laptop slowly.

Andrews not complaining about allergies; hes got seasonal hay fever from ragweed, she said, her tone icy. And we ate convenience foods for the last month. Jane, put the sponge down. This is my home and my kitchen.

At that moment the front door slammed, and Andrews cheerful voice echoed from the hallway.

Ladies, Im home! Smells amazing in here whats cooking, Jane?

He entered, beaming like a polished kettle, oblivious to the tension that hung heavy in the air. Seeing Jane on the stool, his smile widened.

Well, look at you, Jane! Youre a whirlwind. Emily, look how it shines! Weve been too busy to get our hands on it.

My work pays the mortgage, Andrew, Emily whispered, meeting his eyes. He, as usual, missed the underlying note.

Come off it, Emily. Janes just trying to help. Shes on holiday, bored, so she dropped by. Were family, right? Isnt that so, Jane?

Of course! Jane finally leapt from the stool, straightening her short skirt and planting a friendly kiss on Andrews cheek. I remember how fussy you are about everything being tidy. You need everything to sparkle. Emilys busy building her career, so I took it upon myself to manage the house.

Emily turned and walked toward the bedroom, swallowing the urge to shout or fling dishes. She knew a fitonly outburst now would paint her as a hysteric compared with the saintly helper. Andrew and Jane had grown up together; their mothers were friends, and Janes presence was a background hum in Andrews life. Over the past month that hum had become deafening.

After a messy divorce, Jane had decided her mission was to rescue poor Andy from domestic chaos. She would appear unannounced, bring containers of food, criticize curtain colours, and rearrange vases because Fengshui says it improves cash flow. Andrew, gentle and conflictaverse, simply laughed and devoured the meatballs she delivered, never seeing a problem.

The evening turned into a torment. Emily sat in her study, trying to reconcile debits and credits, while from the kitchen rose boisterous laughter, clatter of cutlery and the aroma of borscht.

Remember our school trip to the hiking club in Year9? Janes voice drifted in. You couldnt even pitch a tent, and I helped you drive the stakes in!

That was a thing! Andrew chuckled. You were always the firestarter.

Emily felt like an intruder in her own flat. She left the study only to fetch a glass of water.

Emily, have a seat and eat! Jane gestured grandly, already in a cosy housecoat shed brought along. Borscht its brain food. I added a secret ingredient; Andys already polished off two bowls.

Thanks, but Im not hungry, Emily replied, filling her glass. Andrew, I need to speak with you alone.

Come off it, love, were all friends here, he waved off, slathering mustard on a slice of bread. Jane knows all our business.

No, Andrew. Alone.

Sensing the steel in her tone, Andrew sighed, wiped his mouth with a napkin and followed her to the bedroom. Jane watched them go, her eyes soft like a doctors watching a patient.

In the bedroom, Emily shut the door behind her and faced Andrew.

Andrew, this has to stop.

What do you mean? he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Jane. Shes everywhere. She shows up without asking, touches my things, cooks in my kitchen. I feel like a guest in my own house.

Emily, youre exaggerating. She just wants to help. Shes lonely right now, and were a family. Besides, the borscht is delicious. You havent cooked much this week.

I havent cooked because Im closing the financial year! Emily raised her voice. I earn the money, Andrew. I didnt hire Jane as a housekeeper. If I need help, Ill call a cleaning service a stranger comes, does the job, and leaves. Jane is staking a claim on our home.

What claim? Were childhood friends! Shes like a sister to me.

Sisters dont behave like this, Andrew. She insults me, calls my extractor a grease layer, says Im feeding you processed meals, and claims Im a bad wife while she pretends to be perfect.

Emily, youre just stressed from work, Andrew tried, pulling her into an embrace. You see enemies everywhere. Jane is a simple soul; she says what she thinks. Dont read too much into it. Give her a bit of patience and shell calm down.

Emily stepped back. The conversation went nowhere; Andrews selective blindness about his friend protected her.

The next three days were relatively calm. Emily stayed late at the office to avoid crossing paths with Jane. On Friday a migraine forced her to leave early, longing only for a cool bed, drawn curtains, and silence.

She slipped off her shoes, tiptoed through the unusually quiet flat, and headed toward the living room. It was empty, but a sweet scent of Janes perfume lingered in the air.

She made her way to the bedroom. The door was ajar. Pushing it open, she froze at the sight of Jane standing in front of the open wardrobe, rearranging piles of Andrews shirts, sweaters and even his underwear. Jane sang softly to herself as she sorted.

What are you doing? Emilys voice trembled, but rang clear.

Jane startled, dropping a stack of Tshirts. A flash of panic crossed her face before she composed herself with a look of offended righteousness.

Oh, Emily! Youre creeping around like a mouse! Didnt mean to scare you, Jane said, turning to face her.

I asked what are you doing in my wardrobe? Emily stepped forward, feeling a cold fury replace the headache.

Im putting things in order, thats all! Jane defended, hands on her hips. Andrew complained his shirts were wrinkled, so Im sorting them by colour and season. I even tossed a couple of your old jumpers into the bin because they were worn out. He deserves a wife who looks like a queen, even at home.

Emily glanced at the floor and saw a black trash bag from which her favourite cosy cardiganher favourite evening wrapprotruded. It was crumpled, fibres pilled, the very sweater she loved to lounge in.

This is the end, Emily thought, a line drawn in the sand.

She pulled the cardigan out, pressed it to her chest and faced Jane.

Out, she said quietly.

Out of my house, now, Jane replied, eyes widening.

Youve gone mad, Jane snapped, trying to keep her composure. Im just tidying up, and youre kicking me out? Ill tell Andrew youre a hysterical wife!

Hell come to an empty flat if you dont leave this instant, Emily shot back. You crossed every boundary. You invaded my bedroom, touched my husbands underwear, threw away my things. Thats not help. Thats intrusion.

Im doing it for Andrew! He needs comfort! Jane protested.

He needs a wife, not a buzzing fly! Emily stepped closer, and Jane stumbled back. You think I dont see what youre doing? Youre trying to take my place, one room at a time. First the kitchen, then the living room, now the bedroom. This is my home, and Im the one who decides what stays.

Janes face flushed red. Youre a drybone! All you think about is numbers! Andrew gets bored with you, he needs warmth!

If you knew what he needed, youd be his wife, not his sidekick lugging food trays, Emily retorted sharply. He chose me, and we live together. Youre the extra.

Jane sputtered, Fine, Andrew will find out

Of course he will. Ill tell him myself. Now pack your things and go. You have one minute.

Emily threw open the front door. Jane snatched her bag, slipped on her shoes and fled down the hallway.

Youll regret this! she hissed, passing Emily. Youll be left alone with your pride!

Better alone than sharing a home with a meddling friend, Emily replied, slamming the door shut.

She leaned against the cold metal, closed her eyes, and felt the pulse in her head ease. A strange relief washed over her, as if she had finally cleared out years of accumulated rubbish.

An hour later Andrew returned, whistling cheerfully. Seeing Emily sitting on the sofa, silence filling the flat, he stopped in his tracks.

Emily? Wheres Jane? She said shed surprise us with a tidyup.

Emily looked at the black bag on the coffee table the one Jane had left behind.

Janes not here, Andrew. She wont be.

Andrew frowned, removing his jacket.

What do you meanshes gone? Did you two fight again over something trivial?

This isnt trivial, Emily said, pointing to the bag. She entered our bedroom, rummaged through your underwear, threw away my clothes, called me a drybone, and claimed she was helping. Thats not help, Andrew. Thats trespass.

He knelt, opened the bag, and pulled out the familiar cardigan, a few shirts. His face softened.

She threw my things out herself? he asked, voice low.

Yes. I put up with her comments, her cooking, her constant presence. Today she crossed into our intimate space the wardrobe, the bed, everything. Emilys voice steadied, a resolve she hadnt felt in months.

Andrew rested his forehead in his hands.

I didnt realize, he said quietly. I thought she just wanted to iron a shirt.

Jane wanted to prove she was better than me, Emily replied. She wanted to be the main woman in this house. Andrew, we have two choices: keep our family free of outsiders, or keep letting Jane run our lives. I wont let that happen again.

Andrew stared at the bag, then at Emilys tired but determined eyes. He remembered a message Jane had sent that morning: Your wifes off to work again, didnt even make breakfast. Ill be over later to tidy up. At the time it had sounded caring; now it felt like a betrayal.

Im sorry, he said finally. I was blind. Im used to her being around, always active. But youre right its too much.

He reached for his phone, dialed, and put it on speaker.

Hello, Andy? Janes voice crackled. You wont believe it your wife threw me out! I was just tidying up, and she

Jane, stop, Andrew cut her off, his tone firm. I know everything now. Why did you go through the wardrobe? Why did you throw Emilys things away?

It was old rubbish! I was trying to help! she protested. She doesnt appreciate me!

Its not your business, Jane. Emily is my wife, this is our home. You have overstepped. Im telling you not to come here without an invitation. We need a break in contact.

What? Youre abandoning me because of her? Jane whined.

Friends respect each others families, Jane. You tried to tear mine apart. No more calls, please. Andrew hung up.

Silence settled over the room, calm rather than heavy.

Emily exhaled, shoulders relaxing.

Thank you, she whispered.

Andrew moved to sit beside her, pulling her into his arms.

Forgive me, he said. I was foolish, thinking the more people around, the merrier. Turns out a crowded bedroom isnt happy at all.

Especially in the bedroom, Emily laughed softly.

Ill sort the bag myself, Andrew promised. And Ill put your cardigan back where it belongs. I love it, you look so cosy in it.

And the borscht? Emily asked mischievously. You do love a proper bonein broth.

He kissed her temple. Ill endure. Well have dumplings in peace, with no one lecturing us about how to live.

From that day Jane vanished from their lives. She sent a few forlorn messages on social media, but Andrew replied curtly. Eventually she found another victim to dote on, and gossip about her spread among mutual acquaintances.

Emily hired a discreet cleaning lady who visited once a week, leaving the flat freshscented without any drama.

One evening, as Emily served a homemade lasagne shed spent half an hour perfecting, Andrew remarked, You know, our extractor could use a clean.

Emily tensed.

And what?

Nothing, he grinned, standing up, grabbing a sponge. Ill do it. Im in a handy mood today. No Jane needed.

Emily watched him, a smile forming. She realised that sometimes protecting a marriage simply means closing the door on those who try to bring their own baggage inside, and not being afraid to be the bad guy for the sake of your own happiness.

In the end, she learned that a home is only as strong as the boundaries you set, and that love thrives when you protect the space you share from unwelcome intruders.