The floorboards creaked under my weight as I reached into the closet searching for his forgotten coat he needed for work tomorrow. My hand brushed something stiff deep inside the thick inner lining near the shoulder seam I hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t a wallet or keys like I expected; it felt like cold, smooth glass hidden deliberately away from casual searching. My heart started hammering against my ribs, the same sick, familiar thud from weeks ago when I found the first one.
I pulled out the small, clear glass vial and held it up under the dim hallway light filtering into the cramped space. An empty glass tube, no different from the last time I’d found one shoved deep in the bottom of his gym bag buried under old clothes. He walked in just then from the bathroom, his face draining instantly white as he saw what was clutched tightly in my trembling hand. “What exactly is *that*?” I demanded, my voice barely a whisper as the vial shook.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he snapped back quickly, eyes darting desperately around the small space, his voice tight and defensive. The stale air in the closet suddenly felt thick and utterly suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides until I couldn’t breathe right. He took a step towards me, reaching out a hand as if to snatch it away, but I instinctively stepped back hard against the wall, clutching the small vial tighter. This empty little bottle, this tiny piece of glass, meant everything we had built together was falling apart again right before my eyes.
He started pacing back and forth restlessly in the hallway outside the closet, running a shaking hand roughly through his already messy hair and refusing to meet my gaze at all costs. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath about work stress, about needing something to relax, desperately claiming it was just old garbage he forgot to throw out ages ago. But the tiny plastic label stuck firmly to the bottom of the vial was clearly fresh and new, small and a bright, unmistakable orange color.
Then I saw the faint, tell-tale smudge of red lipstick clinging stubbornly to the very rim of the cap.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*Lipstick?” I repeated, the word laced with disbelief, a fresh wave of nausea washing over me. My gaze flickered from the vial in my hand to his pale face. He visibly recoiled, his eyes widening in a mixture of fear and guilt. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The lies he was trying to construct crumbled before they could even be voiced.
“Who…who is it?” I asked, my voice barely audible, the words stinging as they left my lips. The air crackled with unspoken accusations, the comfortable silence we once shared now a deafening roar of betrayal.
He finally met my gaze, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for understanding, but all I saw was deceit. “It’s not what you think,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “It was…a colleague. We had drinks after work.”
“Drinks?” I scoffed, the sound bitter and laced with sarcasm. “Is that what you call it now? A colleague? And the empty vial? What’s her excuse for that?”
He remained silent, his head bowed, the truth hanging heavy in the air between us. The weight of his deception crashed down, shattering the foundation of our relationship. All the promises, all the vows, now seemed like hollow echoes in the empty space.
I closed my eyes, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. When I opened them, my gaze was clear, resolute. “I think you should leave,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging within me.
He looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and despair. “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded, reaching out for me. “I can explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I said, stepping away from his touch. “You’ve already said enough.”
I walked past him, out of the cramped closet, and into the living room. He followed, his voice laced with desperation as he begged for forgiveness, for another chance. But the trust was broken, irreparable.
I pointed towards the door. “Just go,” I repeated, my voice firm. “I need time to think.”
He hesitated, his eyes searching mine one last time, before turning and walking out, leaving me alone with the shattered pieces of our life.
Later, as I sat surrounded by the silence of our once-shared home, the vial still clutched tightly in my hand, I knew that this was the end. The lipstick wasn’t just a smudge on a vial; it was a stain on our marriage. And as much as it hurt, I knew I deserved better than lies and empty promises. It was time to start rebuilding, alone
