The Night I Caught Him Cheating on Me

My husband has always preferred black and gray, so I was surprised to find a pink pair of underwear suddenly appear in our closet.

“Did you see it?” he asked, a little too casually.

I took the underwear to the bathroom door, waiting for him to take it, but he just looked at it and said, “Change it to black.”

I figured it might just be a free gift from a recent purchase. But then his phone, left outside the bathroom door, lit up with a message:

["Pink couple’s style—think it suits you, Bob?"]

And his reply was right there: "I’ll know when you wear it for me."

——

Before I could process, Bobby nudged me away.

“The water’s cold—come back in a bit,” he said, snapping the door shut.

The lock clicked.

I couldn’t tell if I was overthinking things… or if Bobby was hiding something.

We had our marriage certificate, and everything seemed to be moving in the right direction. But he had become more irritable with me lately, especially this year, as I left early and returned home late every day.

Then, his phone lit up.

A message from a girl named Helena appeared on the screen—a close-up video of her chest. Her skin was fair, a red mole visible, and a thin metal chain glinted against her skin as her chest rose and fell.

["Does it look good, Bob?"]

["Bet she doesn't give you this much fun, right? Can't wait for you to take it off… with your mouth."]

["Just like… last time."]

A buzzing filled my head, and the world blurred as I stared at the floor, my mind reeling, trying to keep my balance.

I leaned against the window, lost in thought. The room was dark; I hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights.

When Bobby came in, he didn’t even notice me at first. His fingers brushed against me, and he immediately pulled back, as if surprised by my presence—or avoiding it.

Since when had he grown so distant?

“Why don’t you turn on the light?” he asked, flicking on the bedside lamp.

The soft amber glow lit his face, and I noticed a faint, sweet scent lingering on him, fresh and unfamiliar.

"I don’t remember us changing the shower gel," I said, unable to hide my curiosity.

He paused mid-motion, his hand still in his hair, before finally replying, “You should try it too.”

The fragrance was… youthful, almost playful—something that belonged to a man in his twenties. It carried a naive energy, tinged with something unspoken. Bobby might not even have noticed, but his mouth curved ever so slightly when he mentioned the shower gel.

“I got up early and moved to the guest room,” he said abruptly, reaching for a pillow.

I grabbed his arm desperately. “Let’s stay here tonight.”

He hesitated, his arm trembling slightly under my touch.

“I’m afraid you won’t sleep well,” he replied softly—the same excuse he’d used for a year now. Before I could respond, Bobby pulled away, clutching his pillow as he hurried toward the door, so preoccupied he left his phone behind.

Another message flashed from Helena.

["Did you make it to the guest room? You’re not going to hold her, are you?"]

He had replied: ["No, you know we don’t feel anything for each other anymore."]

Then came her response: ["Then, Bob, video call me later? I got a new chest chain. It’s beautiful."]

I took a shaky breath, running my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of it all. This was the man who, the day we got our marriage certificate, celebrated by booking every restaurant in the city. Three years ago, he proposed with so much anxiety he joked he’d need an oxygen tank just to get through it. He’d held my hands, promised, “If I ever change my heart, I’ll swallow a thousand needles.”

That promise had been enough for me to say yes, without a second thought. For years, I’d believed in us.

He came back to retrieve his phone. “I forgot this—go to bed early,” he mumbled.

“Bobby,” I called softly.

But he didn’t look up, his attention already lost to the screen in his hands.