My Mascara Was Her Freebie

My husband bought me a mascara.

After seven years together, Bennetta man who couldnt tell the difference between foundation and concealer if his life depended on itstill didnt understand why I spent forty minutes at the vanity every morning. But he loved to watch. He loved to compliment me.

Curious, I asked him how he even knew I was running low.

He scratched the back of his neck, giving me that boyish, lopsided grin. "You usually only pump the wand twice before applying it. Last week, I counted six pumps. I figured it was drying out."

My throat tightened. It was such a small, observant detailthe kind of thing that makes you believe your marriage is an impenetrable fortress. I thought this was what a "good" marriage looked like.

It wasn't until six months later, while deep-cleaning the guest room, that I found a crumpled receipt tucked inside an old coat pocket.

That mascarathe one I had treated like a precious heirloom, saving it for date nights and special occasionswasn't a gift.

It was a "Gift with Purchase." A freebie that came with a bottle of expensive, high-end perfume.

The kind of perfume I didn't own.

I stood in the bathroom for a long time, clutching that wrinkled slip of paper.

The mascara sat on the counter: a sleek black tube with gold lettering. I had opened it so carefully, cherished it so much. A "free gift." It turned out I was just basking in the glow of someone elses luxury.

A cold chill settled in my marrow. If the mascara was here, where was the perfume?

The question sat on my chest like a lead weight. When Bennett came home, I found myself sniffing his coat when he wasn't looking. When he showered, Id "accidentally" walk past his phone, hoping to catch a glimpse of the screen.

But everything seemed normal.

He still walked through the door shouting, "Hey, honey, Im home!" He still brought me a bouquet of flowers every Friday. But the weeds of suspicion had already taken root in my heart, growing wild and suffocating.

A week later, I decided to drop by his office with a surprise lunch. Through the slight crack in his blinds, I saw a woman I didnt recognize.

She was wearing a pencil skirt and a deep V-neck blouse, leaning casually over Bennetts desk, pointing at a file and laughing. Bennett was leaning back in his chair, a relaxed, genuine smile on his face.

She looked young. Beautiful. Vibrant.

They were in their own worlda world of deadlines and inside jokes that I had no part of. My blood turned to fire. I didn't think; I just pushed the door open.

"Bennett!"

They both jumped. The girl straightened up, her gaze raking over me with casual indifference. "And you are?"

"Im his wife!" My voice was shrill, vibrating with a rage I couldn't contain.

Before I could stop myself, I swung. My palm connected with her cheek in a sharp crack. "Is this how you dress to seduce other peoples husbands? Have you no shame?"

The entire floor went silent. Every head turned.

Bennetts face darkened instantly. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight and punishing. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"They were practically on top of each other!" I screamed at the room. "Do you all think Im blind?"

"Shut up, Lauren!" He hissed, shoving my hand away. "This is Natalie. Shes the new temp. Shes getting married next month and leaving the firm. She was literally handing in her resignation."

Married?

I froze. Natalie held her cheek, a cold, mocking sneer twisting her lips as she looked me up and down.

"Unbelievable," she muttered. "You think every woman in the world is clawing for your husband's leftovers? Its always the housewives who have nothing else going for them that treat their husbands like prizes."

A few people in the cubicles nearby snickered.

My face burned with a heat so intense I thought I might catch fire, followed by a bone-deep cold. Bennett wouldn't even look at me.

"Stop embarrassing yourself. Go home. Now."

"Bennett..."

"Go!"

I walked out of that building under a firing squad of judgmental stares. In the elevator mirror, I saw a woman with frizzy hair, bloodshot eyes, and a pathetic insulated lunch bag.

I had made a fool of myself. I knew that. But more than the embarrassment, I was terrified of losing him.

When he came home that night, his face was a mask of resentment. I tried to apologize immediately. "Im sorry. I overreacted. I was just"

"Whatever."

"But the perfume... I found the receipt, Bennett. Who was it for?"

His thumb froze over his phone screen. He looked up, his brow furrowed in a deep, weary line. "It was for a client, Lauren. An important client. A woman. Are you satisfied now?"

He tossed his phone onto the sofa, his voice dripping with irritation. "Can you stop being so paranoid? My job is stressful enough without coming home to a private investigator."

"I didn't mean"

"Then what did you mean?" He stood up, towering over me. "Look at yourself. Youre turning into one of those neurotic, bitter women. I work myself to the bone so you can have this life, and this is how you repay me? By picking fights?"

The room felt like it was spinning. I stood there, mouth open, completely silenced by his conviction.

For the next few days, I was the perfect wife. I cooked, I cleaned, I barely breathed a word. I was sorting his shirts by color for the laundry when a flash of crimson caught my eye.

On the underside of his collar, near the left side of his neck. A smudge of lipstick. A kiss.

My hands began to shake uncontrollably. My gut hadn't lied to me. He was cheating.

When Bennett walked in that evening, I held the shirt up in front of him like a flag of war.

He blinked, a look of pure absurdity crossing his face before it hardened into cold mockery. "Lauren." He shook his head, his voice dangerously quiet. "Do you want me to be cheating on you? Is that it? Would that make you happy?"

"The lipstick, Bennett. Explain the lipstick."

"I don't know! We went to a happy hour with the team. People get crowded, people bump into each other. Is it that hard to believe?" He stepped closer, his voice rising. "Are you so bored with your life that you're praying for me to have an affair?"

"But the evidence"

"Oh, the 'evidence'?" He let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Then call the cops! Sue me! Do whatever you want since you've already decided I'm a monster!"

I couldn't breathe. Tears blurred my vision. How did we get here?

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He stepped away to answer it. The second he heard the voice on the other end, his irritation vanished, replaced by a soft, urgent concern.

"Yeah. Okay. Don't panic. I'm coming right now."

"Bennett!" My voice broke. "We aren't finished. Where are you going?"

He didn't even look back. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

"Who was that?" I tried to grab his arm.

Slam.

The door hit the frame with a deafening thud. He was gone. And I was alone in the silence, drowning.

The cold war lasted for days. I couldn't sleep, and my stomach was in a constant state of revolt. Everything I ate came right back up.

Two pink lines appeared on the plastic stick.

I went to the clinic to confirm it. I sat in the waiting room, clutching my ticket, surrounded by happy couples. Husbands were rubbing their wives backs, whispering about names and nurseries. I sat on a plastic chair, feeling like a ghost.

"Mommy, Im thirsty."

"Hold on, honey. Daddy went to get you some water."

The voice caught my attention. I looked up, and the blood drained from my face so fast I felt faint.

The woman was plain-faced, wearing no makeup, sitting next to a boy who looked about five. And the man walking toward them with a gentle, doting smile?

My husband.

Bennett unscrewed the cap of a water bottle and handed it to the woman before naturally leaning down to adjust the straw for the little boy.

In the middle of a sweltering July, I felt like I was standing in a blizzard. My knuckles were white against the ultrasound referral in my hand.

"Bennett." My voice was a raspy whisper.

His smile died. His face went pale, then hard, and his first instincthis very first instinctwas to pull the womans hand behind his back, shielding her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I think I should be asking you that," I said, my voice trembling. "Who is she? Whose child is that?"

Bennett stepped toward me, lowering his voice into a sharp hiss. "Not here. Haven't you embarrassed me enough at the office? Do you have to do it at a hospital, too?"

"Embarrassed you?" The tears started falling. "Bennett, look me in the eye and tell me who she is! If you're man enough to have a second family, be man enough to admit it!"

Heads were turning. The woman looked down, pulling the boy into her lap.

Bennetts expression shifted to pure disgust. "Enough!" he barked. "Just go home, Lauren. Now."

"I want a divorce." My voice sounded hollow, like it was coming from someone else. A sharp, pulling pain radiated through my lower abdomen. I looked at him and added, very softly, "Im pregnant."

Bennett froze. The air between us turned to lead.

"Mr. Miller, please... don't do this."

The woman finally spoke. Her voice was soft, melodic, and seemingly full of regret. She stepped forward, looking at me with wide, tearful eyes.

"Ma'am, please don't misunderstand. I work for your husband. My ex-husband... hes dangerous. I'm here to document injuries." She pulled back her sleeve to reveal a nasty purple bruise on her forearm before quickly covering it. "Mr. Miller saw that I was struggling alone with a child and offered to help. He didn't tell you because he didn't want you to worry. Its all my fault..."

She began to cryquiet, delicate sobs. The boy hugged her leg and looked at Bennett with big, watery eyes. "Uncle Bennett..."

Bennett looked shaken. He looked at the womanTrishathen at me, sighing as he moved toward me.

"Lauren..." He reached out, then hesitated, his voice softening. "Ive missed you. Lets just go home. We can talk about this properly, okay?"

He pulled me into a hug. I was stiff, but the familiar scent of his cologne and detergent washed over me. I thought about college, when he skipped meals to buy me a birthday cake. I thought about our first tiny apartment, sharing instant noodles. I thought about the day he got his first big bonus and spun me around, shouting, Were finally going to have a real home, baby!

Seven years. From college sweethearts to a beautiful house in the suburbs. So many good memories. And now, a baby.

I was just being paranoid, right? I told myself. Why would he throw away seven years of history for a divorced mother?

The dam broke. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed until I couldn't catch my breath. All the doubt and pain seemed to pour out of me.

"Don't be upset," he whispered. "It's my fault. I should have told you."

Trisha stepped closer, pulling out her phone. "Lauren, lets exchange numbers. From now on, if Mr. Miller helps me with anything, I'll clear it with you first. I never want to be the cause of a misunderstanding again."

I thought the storm had passed. I thought my life was back on track.

I was a fool.

After that, Bennett stopped sleeping in the guest room. But he started coming home later and later. It was always "overtime," "meetings," or "business trips."

He finally agreed to come to my twelve-week ultrasound. We were walking toward the door when his phone rang. He took the call, then turned to me with a look of practiced regret.

"Emergency at the office, honey. I have to go. Ill make it up to you, I promise."

I rubbed my belly, staring at the empty seat beside me in the waiting room.

Late that night, I was scrolling through Facebook. I found Trishas profile.

She had posted a photo of a chalkboard that said Parent-Teacher Night. In the corner of the frame, a mans hand rested on a school desk. He was wearing the Rolex I had bought Bennett for his birthday last year.

The caption read: Toby said it was so nice not to be the only kid without a dad there tonight.

I stared at the photo, my skin turning to ice.

When Bennett crawled into bed at 2 AM, I didn't even turn on the light. I just asked him. Again.

He didn't even flinch. "Trisha is a single mom, Lauren. She has no one. I went to help out. Is that a crime? Does every other child in the world have to suffer because you're insecure?"

"What about the child in my womb?" I screamed. "Is your child important, or is hers? You promised to be at my ultrasound, but you were at a PTA meeting for a kid that isn't yours! Bennett, who are you a husband to? Who are you a father to?"

"You're heartless," he said coldly. "I'm tired of the drama. Im going to sleep."

The next day, I went to his office. I needed to know the truth.

I was in the restroom stall when I heard two women come in, laughing and gossiping.

"Did you see Trishas new bag? A Chanel flap. Thats like, six grand. Where does a secretary get that kind of money?"

"Where do you think? Bennett Miller. He picks her up every morning. I heard he even paid the deposit on her new condo."

"Are you serious? Doesn't he have a wife?"

"Yeah, but Trishas got him wrapped around her finger. They leave together every day. He picks up her kid, takes them to dinner, tucks them in, and then goes home to the wife. Its a full-on double life."

"God, that's bold..."

The water ran, then stopped. They left.

I sat on the toilet, paralyzed.

It wasn't overtime. He was playing house with them. He was having dinner with them every night and coming home to me for the leftovers of his day.

I don't know how long I sat there. When I finally stood up, my legs were like jelly. I wanted to storm into his office and burn it all down, but my feet wouldn't move. I couldn't get the look of disgust hed given me at the hospital out of my head.

I wandered down to the parking garage, a ghost in my own life. I pushed open the heavy fire door and saw them.

Under the dim fluorescent lights, next to his car.

They were wrapped in each other's arms. Bennett had his back to me, holding Trisha tight, stroking her hair and whispering into her ear. It was a gesture of pure, unadulterated devotion.

Trisha looked over his shoulder and saw me.

She didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. She just slowly, calmly, let a small, triumphant smile spread across her face.

I stood in the shadows and watched. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just watched my life end.

I met with a lawyer on my own.

The conference room was freezing. The lawyer told me the law was on my side, provided I was ready to pull the trigger. I just sat there, hand over my stomach, silent.

As I left the office, my phone rang.

"Lauren," Bennett said, his voice clipped and busy. "Trisha and I are stuck at a meeting. Go pick up Toby from preschool and take him home. The spare key is under the mat."

A wave of absurdity washed over me. Even now, he thought I was a puppet. He thought our marriage was an unbreakable cage.

"Im not"

"I texted you the address. We're slammed. Its just a quick errand. Bye."

He hung up.

I looked at the phone. The child was innocent, I told myself. He shouldn't have to sit alone at a school because his mother was busy sleeping with my husband.

I went.

Toby saw me and scowled, but he followed me to the car. On the walk back to their apartment, he stomped ahead of me. My lower back was aching, a dull, pulsing throb.

In the middle of the courtyard, he stopped and glared at me. For a five-year-old, his eyes were full of a terrifying, concentrated malice.

"My mommy says you're the reason my daddy can't live with us." His voice was high and cruel. "She says you're a parasite. Why won't that little mistake in your tummy just die already?"

I froze. "What did you say?"

"You're a bad woman! I hope the baby dies!"

He screamed it, and then, with a sudden, violent burst of strength, he lunged forward and shoved me with both hands right in the center of my stomach.

I wasn't prepared. I stumbled back, my heel catching on a gap in the paving stones. I fell hard, my back hitting a concrete planter before I landed on the ground.

A white-hot bolt of pain shot through my abdomen. I curled into a ball, gasping, as I watched the boy turn and sprint away toward the apartment building.

Then, I felt it. A warm, terrifying rush of liquid.

I reached out, trying to find a hand, a voice, a miracle. But there was only the cold stone and the fading sound of a child's laughter.

At the hospital, I was jolted awake by a hand shaking my shoulder.

"Where is my son?! What did you do with him?!"

Trisha was standing over my bed, her eyes red and puffy, her fingers digging into my arm. "Lauren! If you hate me, take it out on me! Give me back Toby! Give him back!"

The movement tore at my stitches. The world went grey.

Bennett stepped into the room, pulling her back. "Where is he, Lauren? The teacher said you picked him up. Where is the boy?"

His eyes were cold, accusing.

I forced my cracked lips open. "He pushed me... then he ran..."

"Ran? A five-year-old? Where could he go?" Bennetts voice was a low growl. "What did you really do to him, Lauren?"

Trisha began to wail. "I know Im nothing to you! Im just a secretary! Ill leave, Ill never look at him again! Just please, give me my baby back!"

She collapsed to her knees by my bed, sobbing hysterically.

Bennett looked at her with such agonizing pity that it felt like a physical blow to my heart. He lifted her up, cradling her. Then he turned his gaze back to me, his voice dripping with venom.

"You don't have to do this, Trisha. You're a woman who works for what she has. You aren't like her. Shes nothing without me."

He stepped closer, his face inches from mine. "You're so pathetic and bitter that you took it out on a child? Do you even deserve to be a mother, Lauren?"

Every word was a poisoned needle. I felt the blood pooling beneath me again, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my soul.

I looked at the man I had loved for seven years. He was holding another woman, using his words to slaughter me.

I didn't cry. The tears were gone.

With a surge of strength I didn't know I had, I ripped the IV out of my hand. A bead of blood bloomed on my skin. I threw back the covers and stood up, ignoring the agonizing tear in my body and the dizzying rush of nausea.

"What are you doing?" Bennett snapped.

"Finding the kid."

I gripped the wall, sliding my hand along it as I shuffled toward the door. I wouldn't let them pin this on me.

Bennett blinked, stunned. Trisha continued to howl.

I walked out into the hall. I asked every nurse, every visitor, describing the boy. My hospital gown was stained red. People stared, but I didn't care.

Eventually, someone called the police.

They found him. He was hiding in the bushes by the apartment complex. And they found the security footage from the courtyard.

In the police station, we all sat in silence as the grainy footage played. The audio was crisp.

"You're a bad woman! I hope the baby dies!"

The shove was clear. My fall was violent.

Bennett watched the screen, his mouth falling open. He looked at Trisha, whose face went from red to white to a sickly green. Then he looked at me, his lips trembling.