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

Blush

The woman flaunted everything on social media. Every post made me cringe.

'Puppy Training Guide.'

'Puppy's a little naughty today.'

'Out walking my puppy today—have you taken yours out yet?'

My fingers burned as I scrolled, my whole body sizzling as though I were being fried alive. I could hardly believe that Colin—my straight-laced, old-fashioned husband of more than a decade—had such a twisted fetish.

I remembered when we once stumbled across a post about this kind of kink online. Colin's face had been full of disgust. He'd even said those people were sick. But when I scrolled to the woman's post from a month ago, she had written gleefully, 'The aloof, mature man I've been chasing finally agreed to be my puppy! Guys, tell me I'm not dreaming!'

The memory of that night flashed before my eyes. Colin had been unusually excited. A man who'd always treated intimacy like routine suddenly couldn't get enough of me—tossing, flipping, pulling me close again and again. I'd thought he was just in high spirits after coming back from a work trip, that we were reliving that spark from when we were newlyweds.

Now I knew the truth. That night had been the last time he acted human.

His "Mommy" was still sending messages. Their chat thread was enough to make me sick. The bathroom door creaked, so I quickly shut the laptop and lay down on the bed.

…

When Colin came back, he got into bed without saying a word. The silence in the room was suffocating. I couldn't sleep. My mind kept replaying our years together, frame by frame.

We had both endured long, difficult years growing up—until we found each other. We encouraged one another, witnessed every milestone in each other's lives. I had stood by him when he had nothing, watched him rise to a fortune worth millions. We'd gone from sharing everything to sharing nothing but a bed.

I still remembered when he was 18, kneeling on one knee, his eyes burning. "Anya, marry me. You'll be the only one for me in this lifetime."

Now, at 34, he lay with his back to me, the glow from his phone lighting up the ceiling—and the tears in my eyes.

I couldn't understand it. Why had he changed so suddenly? Had he been hiding this all along, or had I just never truly known him? The man who used to blush when I held his hand in public, who never dared kiss me outside, felt like he'd died somewhere in my memories.

…

I stayed awake until morning. After Colin left for work, I finally got out of bed. My assistant had sent me the report.

When I opened it and saw the young woman's face, I flipped through the photos again and again to make sure I wasn't mistaken. The woman was Poppy Everett—the same girl Colin and I had sponsored years ago.

Seven years ago, she was 13 when we visited her. She'd held my hand and whispered shyly, "Anya, you and Colin are so kind to me—you're just like my parents."

Now, at 20, she was no longer that frail little girl, but beautiful and radiant.

I had once worried about her growing up in such an environment. I'd even told her that if anyone ever bullied her, she should come to me. I never imagined the person with bad intentions would be the man lying next to me every night.

I began to piece things together, wondering when and how the two of them started this affair. How old had Poppy been then? The more I thought about it, the sicker I felt—until I ran to the trash can and threw up violently.

When the nausea subsided, I walked into the living room. On the table sat a pink mug filled with milk Colin had made for me. I was lactose intolerant. But on Poppy's social media, she had posted, 'Puppy gave me every last drop of his milk.'

I vomited again.

I hurled the mug to the floor, and the crash of shattering glass did nothing to calm me. I kept smashing the pink things around the room until I finally came to my senses, slumped on the ruined pink sofa, and grabbed my phone.

"Draft the divorce papers," I said hoarsely. "As soon as possible."

My assistant must have heard the strain in my voice. "Ms. Leighton, are you all right?"

How could I be? Betrayed by two people closest to me—how could anyone be fine? But I didn't have time to wallow in heartbreak.

"Find the best attorney and a private investigator."

Her tone sharpened with determination. "Understood, Ms. Leighton. I promise you won't be disappointed."