Page 5 of Cruel Lies

So, with a deep breath, I begin the climb.

The master bedroom looks fine. I set my bag down by the door and just stand there for a second, taking it in.

I want to remember it like this. The last few seconds of not knowing for sure. Even now, there's a stubborn little gremlin in my chest still whispering,Maybe you really are crazy. Maybe Todd's right and you need to get on some meds.

I want to strangle that gremlin.

But I also kind of love her, because she's the only thing that's kept me married to a story I want so badly to remain true. And what's more precious than the little lies we tell ourselves?

I start with the bathroom. That's where the scale is, and the scale is what started this.

It's right where I left it, the navy blue plastic square, sitting on the tile by the tub. I crouch down and poke it with one finger. Right away, it lights up and chirps helpfully, like it just can'twaitto be of service. I feel a pang of betrayal at the thought of this scale chirping like that for another woman. It's like imagining your dog licking someone else's face. Or, I guess, like imagining your husband licking someone else's?—

Yeah. You get it. Point is, this thing is Judas.

I don't get on it. I'm afraid of what it might say.

~Congratulations! You've added back on forty pounds—but on the plus side, you've lost your husband!~

Instead, I stand up and look at the counter.

That's when my Spidey senses start to tingle.

My hairbrush is sitting by the sink where I always leave it, bristles up. I pick it up—and there, tangled in the bristles among my own dark brown strands, are several long hairs that are not mine.

They're blonde. Honey blonde, thick, glamorous. It takes either a gift from God or three hundred bucks and a four-hour session in the salon chair to achieve this tone.

I lift the brush closer to the window light, because I want to be sure. The gremlin is screaming that maybe it's a trick of the eye, or it's a stray thread from a towel, or those damn raccoons.

But it's not. There's no denying what it is.

I set the brush back down with trembling fingers. I'm sweating and shivering at the same time. My body is as confused as my mind is.

I open the medicine cabinet next. I don't even know what I'm looking for, except that some animal part of my brain has taken the wheel. There's a tube of mascara that isn't mine—Too Faced Better Than Sex, and isn'tthata kick in the teeth?—shoved behind Todd's deodorant where he probably thought I'd never look. I don't wear that mascara. I wear the boring CVS one because, by the time I remember makeup exists, it's usually already eight in the morning and I've got a child gluing himself, herself, or his/her sibling to a banister downstairs.

When I close the cabinet, my own reflection swings into view in the mirror. I look like a woman in a slasher film right before something terrible happens behind her.

Hollow. Pale. Haunted.

The next logical place to look would be the bed, but I just can't bring myself to do it yet. That's the inevitable end point. And yeah, maybe I'm edging myself with horror and heartbreak like the sick little freak I am, but, well, sue me. This is my life that's exploding. The least I can do is let it explode onmyterms.

So, delaying the finale, I go to Todd's nightstand.

My favorite coffee mug, the one that saysGirls Will Be Girlssuperimposed over a drawing of a female praying mantis slicing the head off of her male lover, is resting in a puddle of condensation.

That's not so unusual. He's a heathen who leaves dirty dishes everywhere, so if anything, it would be more suspicious if thereweren'ta dirty mug somewhere within arm's reach.

But when I look closer, I see a lipstick stain pressed into the white ceramic.

A perfect little crescent of filler-enhanced smoochers, in a muted mauve-pink that I'm sure is selling like hotcakes on TikTok Shop.

Needless to say, I'm not up on the latest in lipstick color trends.

I stand there holding the mug for a long while. It's so easy for this picture to take place in my mind. I have two essential details already.

A long, messy tangle of blond hair, recently ravished but still somehow flawlessly arranged.

A pair of pink lips. Puckered. Kiss-swollen. Luscious.