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."

Rose Tint

A few days later, I received a call from the private investigator and went to the hotel.

It was Poppy's mother's birthday. Colin had used a business trip as an excuse but had secretly arranged for Poppy's family and friends to gather there to celebrate.

I watched him move about confidently, organizing everything as though he were one of their own. Then I saw Poppy—dressed in layers of ruffled fabric like a frosted cake—glide toward him like a princess and slip her arm through his.

Her relatives and friends burst into teasing laughter.

"Colin, our Poppy's yours now—treat her well, you hear?"

"That's what it means to pluck the rose you have raised."

I stood there watching as Colin, caught up in the moment, actually called Poppy's parents "Mom" and "Dad". It would've been laughable—if it hadn't been so revolting. He was only ten years younger than they were.

…

Midway through dinner, Poppy got drunk. Colin led her toward the bathroom. In the hallway, she tiptoed up, fingers under his chin, their faces brushing close. "Say it—call me Mommy."

People were walking by, and Colin looked uneasy, coaxing her in a low voice. "Later, okay? When we get back."

But Poppy wouldn't let him go until he finally gave in, whispering "Mommy" again and again while holding her in his arms.

Seeing it with my own eyes and hearing it with my own ears hit harder than any report or photo could. I had thought I was already numb to the truth, but the sight of it still sent shockwaves through my head.

I leaned against the wall, forcing down the bile rising in my throat.

And suddenly, memories came flooding back.

I remembered the first time Colin took me to his hometown. His parents had criticized me for my education, picking me apart right to my face. Colin had grabbed my hand and walked out with me without a word. The sunset had reflected in his teary eyes, planting a seed of tenderness in my heart.

"Anya," he said, "I won't let anyone in this world mistreat you—not even me."

Then, I remembered our first visit to Poppy. The little girl had put on new clothes she'd probably saved for months, clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers as she smiled up at us with innocent joy. "Anya, Colin, I hope you'll always be happy together."

Why was it always the kind ones who got betrayed? Why did doing good only seem to lead to pain?

A cold wave spread through me. My hands trembled as I slid down the wall. Not far away, Poppy's spoiled, sugary voice carried over. "When are you going to divorce that old woman?"

Her pink Mary Janes pressed over Colin's black dress shoes, her slender arms looped around his neck. "Colin, I know you feel guilty. Sometimes I do too. Anya's been nothing but good to me, but from the moment I fell for you, I swore I'd never give up, no matter how hard it got. It's fine if you don't want to divorce her. Don't worry—when the day comes that you're tired of me, I'll leave and never bother you again."

At those words, Colin's long silence finally broke. A flash of panic crossed his face. "I'm not letting you leave me."

The words crashed into me like a free fall. It felt like I'd been clinging to the edge of a cliff for months, terrified and trembling—and the rope had finally snapped. The pain, at last, had an ending.

I gathered every piece of evidence, printed out his bank records, and organized everything neatly for the lawyer. Then, I called Colin. It took ten tries before he finally picked up.

"Anya, what is it?" Before I could speak, his voice turned impatient. "Can this wait? I'm in a meeting—"

I cut him off, calm and deliberate. "Colin, we need to talk."

Because of my upbringing, I had always been sensitive, prone to overthinking—and Colin knew that better than anyone.

Years ago, when I found a single strand of another woman's hair on his coat, I had quietly followed the trail to a female business partner who'd been flirting with him. For the sake of his company, I had pretended not to know. But Colin had been the one to end the partnership himself, looking me straight in the eyes. "Anya, I know how easily you worry. I'll never give you a reason to feel insecure again."

Now, in a voice steady and cold, I said each word clearly. "Colin, if you still remember the years we spent together, come home."

Coral Veil

On the other end of the line, Colin stayed silent. Then, Poppy's voice drifted through faintly, sweet and careless. "Colin, the little cake on my head's crooked."

His tone turned awkwardly calm, like he was trying to cover something up. "Anya, I've got a meeting. We'll talk later." Then, he hung up in a rush.

When I called again, his phone was already off.

Almost at the same time, the detective's message came through with a video from the hotel. 'Everything's ready. By early next month, you'll get exactly what you wanted.'

I replayed their earlier conversation in my head. Any hesitation I'd had disappeared. From that moment on, I followed through with my plan.

Up until that day, I'd still been wondering—maybe Colin was just under too much pressure, or maybe Poppy, being young and naive, had fallen under his spell. I hadn't wanted to make things ugly; I wanted to understand what really happened. But now, I knew—they didn't deserve my understanding.

When I began preparing for the divorce and sold off all my shares at a low price, Colin and Poppy were busy putting on their romantic performance for the world to see.

When I set up a new studio and pulled over every business partner I could from our joint ventures, Colin bought Poppy a pink princess villa and even invited her parents to live there. They played house like one big, happy family.

When I bought a new apartment for myself and started moving out, Colin booked a luxury hotel for Poppy's birthday banquet.

When I was down to my last box, Colin came home. His eyes widened at the empty living room and the shards of pink scattered in the trash can. The pink bouquet in his hand trembled slightly. "Anya… are you moving out?"

For a brief second, I thought he'd finally come to his senses. But instead, he walked over and placed the flowers into a vase. "C'mon, I just bought a few pink things for the house. Do you need to remodel the whole place? Isn't that a little over the top?" His tone carried a hint of irritation, even blame.

I blinked slowly, a sting creeping up my chest. "I don't like pink."

He froze, guilt flickering in his eyes. "Throw it all away then. Whatever makes you happy. I've got to go for now, but I'll make it up to you once I'm done."

I didn't stop him, didn't ask a thing. As he turned to leave, I called his name. He paused, puzzled, meeting my gaze—and for a split second, something uneasy flashed across his face. I smiled faintly. "It's nothing. Go ahead."

Go—all of you. The 18-year-old Colin, the 34-year-old Colin—I didn't want either of them anymore.

Colin exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders. "All right. I'll be back soon."

The moment he left, I walked out too, carrying the last of my belongings. I listed the house with a realtor and had every single one of his possessions shipped—cash on delivery—to Poppy's new address.

…

When Poppy's birthday arrived, I stood at the back of the hall, watching the air fill with pink balloons and the glow of a million-dollar cake. I couldn't help but think back to my own wedding—just two tables, a modest ceremony. Colin had promised that when he made enough money, he'd give me the dream wedding I deserved.

He'd kept his word, in a way. The only thing missing was me.

I picked up the microphone and spoke to the control booth. "Let's begin."

The lights went out. The entire hall plunged into darkness, followed by a murmur of confusion.

"What's going on?"

"Did the power go out? In a hotel like this?"

Poppy's face soured, and Colin quickly tried to soothe her. "It's fine, I'll go check."

Then, the giant screen lit up. Colin and Poppy's videos filled the display—every lewd roleplay, every humiliating scene of him kneeling, wagging, begging for her attention. The footage was in perfect, high definition, playing in front of everyone.

Poppy's face turned ghostly pale. Her parents, mortified, stormed out of the room. Colin stood frozen, darting glances around in panic. And I walked up the stage, microphone in hand, facing them both. "Honey, do you like the birthday gift I got Poppy?"