My 5-year-old began wearing her high heels and used her lipstick by mistake, unintentionally revealing her lie.
Life has an odd habit of taking you by surprise when you least expect it. That moment for me arrived when I learned something about my wife that completely changed my perspective. I’m Jonathan, and up until a few weeks ago, I believed I understood everything. I’m just a regular guy living a straightforward life. Mary and I have been married for six years, and our lovely little daughter, Jazmin, is ours. With her mother’s dark eyes and my obstinate nature, she is a lively five-year-old who brings joy and happiness into my life.
Jazmin is the type of child that can bring a grin to your face simply by entering a room. Mary, on the other hand, is the kind of lady who doesn’t need to put on airs; she has always been my rock. Mary was a self-assured, organic, and content person who didn’t give much thought to makeup or ostentatious attire. In all the years we’ve been dating, I believe I’ve only seen her wear her one pair of high heels maybe twice.
However, something hasn’t been right recently, and I’m not exactly sure what it is.
It all began approximately one month ago. After work, I would be worn out but excited to see my daughters when I got home. With a beaming smile on her face, Jazmin would be stumbling around on those exact high heels, swaying slightly yet exuding confidence like a peacock. “I’m a princess like Mom!” she would exclaim, her little voice beaming with joy. I would always pick her up, give her a kiss on the cheek, and tell her, “Jazzy, you are the most beautiful princess in the world.” She would chuckle and put her tiny arms around my neck.
However, as the days went by, that persistent feeling began to surface. Why was all of this taking place? Where was she getting the inspiration for the lipstick and heels? It was nonsensical. Mary never applied lipstick or wore heels. The last time I saw her, she was usually just wearing her flats and maybe some lip balm. It gnawed at me more and more the more I considered it.
I sat at the dinner table one evening, exhausted from another exhausting day, and pushed my food around my plate, trying to make sense of it all. Mary was singing in the kitchen as she did the dishes, and Jazmin was playing with her dolls on the floor in her normal location. The dolls had also developed little red streaks on their faces that seemed to be lipstick. I made the decision at that point that I could no longer ignore it.
I beckoned Jazmin near me and gently lifted her onto my lap. “Hi Jazzy, you always say you look like Mom, but Mom never wears heels,” I said in a lighthearted manner.
She gave me a wide-eyed look, as though I had just stated the most perplexing thing ever. “She does.” Jazmin urged, giving a passionate nod. “Every day that you report for duty.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You mean, like, every day?”
She clarified, her voice full of that infantile confidence, “Mommy has so many heels.” “She picks them up and delivers me to Aunt Lily’s place. In the car, I witness her applying red lipstick before she drives off.
Time simply stopped at that very moment, I promise. I tried to take in what my daughter was saying as I looked at her, my mind racing. Heels? Lipstick? Leaving her at Lily’s? “Jazzy, are you sure?” My question came out as no more than a whisper. “You see Mom with lipstick and heels?”
She nodded again, showing no signs of awareness of the growing panic rising in my chest. “Yeah, right! Daddy, she looks very nice. However, she doesn’t wear them while you’re not around.
I was reeling within, even though I was trying to maintain a neutral appearance. What was taking place? Was Mary… Did she have something to hide from me? Betraying me with falsehoods?
Mary decided to enter the dining room at that precise moment and use a dish towel to dry her hands. She turned to face the two of us, her smile as genuine and gentle as ever. Now though, the smile turned my stomach. She approached Jazmin to fluff her hair and inquired, in a fun way, “What are you two whispering about?”
I managed to say, “Nothing, just talking about princesses,” though my voice sounded strange to me. But I was screaming inside. What was happening with my spouse? Why was our daughter seemingly more knowledgeable about it than I was?
The following morning, I was sat in the car with my hands clenched around the steering wheel until my knuckles became white. I gave Mary a short kiss on the cheek before leaving the house before dawn, telling her I had an early meeting. She had smiled at me while half asleep, oblivious to my true intentions. After circling the block a few times, I parked a short distance down the street, where our front door was still visible. I was having trouble thinking clearly and my heart was racing in my chest.
Mary left the house at precisely 8:30 a.m., looking exactly like she usually did: with her hair pulled back, no makeup, and her go-to trousers and top. It was also not unusual that she had a tote bag hanging over her shoulder. After waving briefly at Jazmin, who was playing with her dolls in the window, she headed down the driveway to her car.
As I’d seen in those detective shows, I waited until she had driven off before following her and staying a few cars behind. I had the feeling of an amateur detective, only with far higher stakes because this was my wife’s life.
It took us roughly twenty minutes to reach a parking lot from her. Upon passing the door, I decelerated upon seeing the sign that read “Radiance Modeling Agency.” My heart almost stopped. Why is she in this place? Without a doubt, this was not the IT firm she had informed me about. I parked where I could see the building’s entrance—on the opposite side of the lot. I observed her as she exited the vehicle and entered. A thousand distinct ideas, each more perplexing than the previous, were racing through my head. I have to be aware of the situation.
Trying not to get too nervous, I walked towards the building after a few minutes. As the glass doors glided open, I entered a bustling foyer full with activity. There were a lot of young ladies moving around, clutching portfolios and conversing with what appeared to be stylists and photographers. I had the impression that I had entered a whole new planet.
I noticed Mary conversing with a tall woman wearing a stylish black dress close to the registration desk. After a little conversation, the woman gave Mary a bag containing clothes. Bewildered, I watched as Mary grinned, grabbed the bag, and walked back toward a pair of double doors.
I followed her, not really thinking about it, and I slipped into the room right before the doors closed. It seemed like an other universe within. There were tons of mirrors, bright lights, and racks upon racks of glitzy clothing. A photographer set up his gear on the far side of the room’s huge platform, which served as a runway.
For an instant, Mary vanished behind a curtain, leaving me motionless. I had no idea what to do. Do I go up to her now and confront her? Should I hold off to find out her true intentions? She emerged from behind the curtain before I could make up my mind, and I swear, my mouth dropped to the ground.
She had changed. The bare face and the basic clothing had vanished. Her hair fell in loose curls about her shoulders, and she wore a lovely crimson dress that caressed her in all the right places. She would apply cosmetics, including smokey eyes and a vivid red lipstick. She appeared… stunning. as if she were someone entirely else.
Watching her go on the runway with confidence radiating from her had my heart racing. Taking a deep breath, she started to saunter down the runway, every step purposeful, every gesture graceful, as if a switch had been flipped. The photographer captured every moment with a quick click of the camera.
I was seeing things that I couldn’t believe. Here my spouse, the one who’s always insisted on seeming comfortable and genuine, was leading a double life as a model. How come she hadn’t told me? Anger, bewilderment, and hurt tightened in my chest at the notion of her holding this secret.
I held off on moving till after the photo shoot was finished and she was back to wearing her everyday attire. I emerged from behind a nearby column and saw her making her way to her car.
I shouted out, “Mary,” attempting to maintain my composure.
She whirled around, horror ringing her eyes. Jonathan? Why are you in this place?
I inhaled deeply, attempting to control my feelings. “I could pose the same query to you. I recently saw you modeling, even though you told me you had a job at an IT business.
She appeared to have been caught red-handed, and for a brief while, she remained silent. She let out a big sigh and sagged like though the world had just collapsed on top of her.
“Jonathan. I apologize for not telling you,” she started. “I’ve always wanted to be a model, but I thought you wouldn’t get it. When I had the chance, I was powerless to resist. I was only doing it for the pleasure and the rush, not for the money. However, I also thought that by acting in this way, I was betraying the qualities you hold dear about me. For this reason, I