These days, Ethan Carter (hereafter Ethan) was always leaving early and coming home late. When I asked him why, he would only chuckle and tease me.
"What’s the matter, babe? You’re not afraid your husband will run off with someone else, are you?"
I could only force a helpless smile at his frivolous reply. He then held me gently, coaxing me as if I were a child.
"We’re about to get married, aren’t we? You’re too busy with work, so I went to the photographer to pick out our wedding photos. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event—I can’t afford to be careless."
Though I had my doubts, I said nothing.
Until that day, when he came home as usual and took off his shirt.
Right in the middle of his back was a lipstick stain.
At that moment, I knew we would never get married.
For the past two months, every time Ethan came home, he would head straight to the shower, claiming it was too hot and he didn’t want me to suffer from the stench of his sweat.
But this time was different. As he stripped off his shirt, I saw the bright red lipstick mark on his back.
That mark struck me like a slap across the face, shattering every illusion I had about the man standing before me.
For a moment, my vision blurred, and I couldn’t breathe.
I watched Ethan head toward the bathroom and forced myself to ask, my voice trembling:
"Ethan, where have you been?"
He froze for an instant, then turned around with a smile.
"Oh, I just went to check on our wedding photos. The photographer said the edits were nearly done and wanted me to take a look."
The photographer he mentioned was a young woman we had met two months ago when taking our bridal portraits. She had pink hair, dimples when she smiled, and an energetic personality.
If I hadn’t seen the lipstick stain, perhaps I wouldn’t have suspected anything. But now, every one of his actions felt suspicious.
When Ethan saw me standing still, he sighed and wrapped his arms around me.
"What’s wrong? You look so pale."
With him so close, all I felt was disgust.
Ethan, do you even realize you’re holding me while another woman’s lipstick still stains your back?
From his expression, he didn’t. Clearly, this was that woman’s deliberate provocation.
I slipped out of his arms without showing any reaction, pretending nothing had happened.
"It must be that I haven’t been sleeping well. Go ahead and take your shower."
He kissed my forehead lightly.
"Alright, sweetheart."
He had no idea the scent of perfume clinging to him made me want to vomit.
As Ethan entered the bathroom, my eyes drifted to his phone on the coffee table. Almost involuntarily, I picked it up. The password was still my birthday.
It was my first time checking his phone. As expected, it was spotless—too spotless, in fact, to be believable.
When I tapped into the photographer’s chat window, it was completely empty. That alone was enough of an answer.
But when I noticed a group chat labeled “Brother,” curiosity got the better of me. The most recent message read:
"Man, you’re impressive!"
I opened it.
The chat history made my whole body tremble.
"Ethan, aren’t you afraid your wife will find out about this?"
"Not at all. She trusts me completely. She never checks my phone. And even if she did, she’d find nothing. Everything else is on my other phone."
So that was it. No wonder this phone contained nothing but work.
