My Thirty-Year-Old Husband's Obsession with Pink

Past thirty, my usually serious husband suddenly developed a fascination with pink. The dark-colored furniture that had stayed the same for ten years was replaced with pink; even the utensils he picked up casually were pink.

I stared at the line of pink pajamas, pink bow ties, and pink underwear hanging out to dry on the balcony, feeling something was off. "I thought you said you hated pink—that it was a color only women liked?"

He was unpacking a new pink bed set and didn't even look up. "Oh, Jack and I made a bet. If I can replace everything in the house with pink, he'll give me his seaside villa for free. Honestly, after looking at it for a while, pink isn't that bad, don't you think?"

I neither agreed nor disagreed. Instead, I called Jack, who blurted out, "What seaside villa? I don't remember ever buying one!"

Powder Pink

After hanging up the phone, I glanced toward the bedroom, where Colin Stone was completely immersed in a sea of pink.

My gut told me he was cheating. But after being together for more than a decade, I liked to think I knew him well enough not to jump to conclusions. Still, after some hesitation, I decided to ask Jack again. Maybe he had said something casually before and just forgotten about it.

The next second, as if he had read my mind, Jack's message arrived. 'Hey, Anya, my bad. I just remembered what you asked earlier. Yeah, that thing really did happen—it was at Colin's birthday. The guys had too much to drink, and I joked that if he redecorated his entire house in pink, I'd give him the seaside villa. It's been a while, so I forgot. Sorry, really didn't mean to make you worry. Don't get the wrong idea about Colin, okay?'

I stared at Jack's clumsy explanation and replied simply, 'It's fine.'

Colin's birthday was two months ago. His sudden obsession with pink had started only a month back. Another excuse full of holes.

Looking around at the pink couch cover beneath me, I finally sent a message to my assistant. 'Find out what Colin's been up to.'

Once that was done, I took a slow look around the house at all the pink things scattered everywhere. From the smallest utensil to the largest piece of furniture—even the curtains—everything pink seemed to crawl across my skin, filling me with a wave of unease and disgust.

I had just finished putting away several pink ornaments when Colin walked out of the bedroom, holding up a pink stuffed toy like a prize. “Anya, isn't it cute?”

The moment he caught sight of my blank expression, his tone shifted immediately. “If you don't like it, I'll toss it. No need for it to bother you.”

He walked to the trash can, paused briefly when he saw that I had already thrown away the pink vase he'd brought home, then silently tossed the stuffed toy in too.

When he turned back to me, his smile was soft. “I thought you'd like these things. But if you don't, I'll get rid of everything once my bet with Jack's over, okay?”

Colin seemed to have forgotten that I'd never had any fondness for things that were cute or childish.

I stayed quiet the rest of the evening, and he eventually replaced the pink bed set with the old one.

That night, he suddenly pressed me down. “Still mad at me?”

As he spoke, the pink stud in his left ear glinted under the light—something he'd started wearing only a month ago. A wave of irritation rose in my chest. I pushed him away and said no. Only then did he stop, as if he'd completed some sort of task, and took his phone into the bathroom. He never came out again.

A sudden thought hit me. I opened his laptop—the password was my birthday. The moment I logged into his chat app, messages started to sync. A woman with a pink profile picture had sent him a text.

'Did you wear the pink underwear I bought for you?'

My heart lurched as I saw Colin's reply.

'Yeah, I did.'

The woman said she wanted proof, and without hesitation, Colin sent her a photo. She replied with satisfaction, 'Good puppy.'

My mind reeled as I scrolled up through their chat, reading more messages that made my stomach twist. In my eyes, Colin had always been a straight-laced man. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd one day find out he was calling another woman "Mommy".

I opened the woman's social media page. Everything was pink—though she never showed her face. She updated frequently: matching pink pajamas, themed hotel rooms, pink slippers, all sorts of pink props.

In her videos, the man sometimes knelt, sometimes lay down, but his face was always hidden. Still, I recognized him instantly from the deep ring mark on his left ring finger.

It was Colin.

My husband of ten years.