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    Home » My 5-Year-Old Started Wearing My Wife’s High Heels & Using Her Lipstick, Accidentally Exposing Her Lie
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    My 5-Year-Old Started Wearing My Wife’s High Heels & Using Her Lipstick, Accidentally Exposing Her Lie

    Kelly WhitewoodBy Kelly WhitewoodSeptember 20, 20248 Mins Read
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    Life is funny because it can change your world at any time. Similar things happened when I learnt a shocking fact about my life partner.

    Jonathan here, and I thought I had everything figured out until a few weeks ago. Just an average person with a basic existence. I’ve been married to Mary for six years and have a beautiful daughter, Jazmin. This lively five-year-old with her mother’s dark eyes and my stubbornness is my sunshine.

    Jazmin can make you grin just by entering the room. Mary has always been my rock. This confident, natural, and comfortable woman doesn’t need to put on airs. I was drawn to her because of that.

    Mary never wore cosmetics or flamboyant clothes. In our years together, she’s worn her one pair of high heels maybe twice.

    Mary always says heels are unpleasant and cosmetics bores her. I’ve always admired her authenticity. However, something is off lately, and I can’t pinpoint it.

    It started a month ago. I returned from work fatigued but excited to see my girls. Jazmin would wobble on those high heels, proud as a peacock and grinning from ear to ear. “I’m a princess like Mom!” she shouted, beaming.

    I always picked her up, kissed her cheek, and said, “You’re the most beautiful princess in the world, Jazzy.” She laughed, throwing her little arms around my neck.

    But that nagging feeling returned as time went on. This is happening why? Where did she obtain her ideas for heels and lipstick? Made no sense.

    Mary never wore lipstick or heels. When was the last time I saw her wearing anything other than flats and lipbalm? The more I thought about it, the worse it hurt.

    I pushed my food around my plate at supper one night, trying to make sense of it all after a long day. Mary was humming while washing dishes in the kitchen, while Jazmin was sitting on the floor normally. She was playing with her dolls, who now had lipstick-like crimson streaks.

    Then I realized I couldn’t ignore it. I called Jazmin over and pulled her into my lap. “Hey, Jazzy,” I said lightly, “you always say you look like Mom, but Mom never wears heels.”

    She looked at me with wide eyes, as if I had said something incredibly strange. “She does!” Nodding vigorously, Jazmin insisted. “Every day at work.”

    My heart skipped. “Every day?”

    “Mommy has so many heels,” she said with naive conviction. She drops me off at Aunt Lily’s. She leaves after applying red lipstick in the car.”

    Time stopped then, I swear. I glanced at my kid, my mind rushing to understand what she said. Heels? Lipstick? Dropping her off at Lily?

    Are you sure, Jazzy? Asking in a whisper. “See Mom wearing heels and lipstick?”

    She nodded again, oblivious to my growing concern. “Uh-huh! Daddy, she’s lovely. Only while you’re away does she wear them.”

    I tried to remain calm, but I was shaken. What happened? Was Mary… Was she concealing something? Betraying me?

    Mary entered the dining room after cleaning her hands with a dish towel. Her grin was usually sweet and sincere when she gazed at us. But suddenly that smile made me queasy.

    “What are you two whispering?” She asked humorously, ruffling Jazmin’s hair.

    “Nothing, just talking about princesses,” I said, sounding alien.

    I was screaming within. What was wrong with my wife? Why does my daughter seem more knowledgeable than me?

    The next morning, I sat in the car with my knuckles white from grasping the steering wheel. Mary knew I had an early meeting, so I left the house at dawn and kissed her cheek. Half-asleep, she smiled at me, unsure of my intentions.

    I circled the block many times before parking down the street, where I could see our front door. My heart raced, making it hard to think.

    Mary left the house at 8:30 a.m., dressed in her normal trousers and blouse, hair pulled back, and no makeup.

    Not unusually, she carried a tote bag over her shoulder. She waved at Jazmin, who was at the window with her dolls, and proceeded down the driveway to her car.

    I waited till she drove off before following her, lingering a few vehicles behind as in detective shows. Since this was my life and wife, I felt like an amateur sleuth with larger stakes.

    We drove for 20 minutes before she turned into a parking lot. My speed slowed as I approached the entryway and spotted “Radiance Modeling Agency.” My heart nearly stopped. Why is she here? This was not the IT company she mentioned.

    I parked facing the building’s entrance on the other side of the lot. I observed her enter from the car. Each of my thousand thoughts was more perplexing than the last. Had to know what was happening.

    I went to the building after a few minutes, trying to be calm. I entered a busy foyer through the glass doors.

    Young women carried portfolios and chatted with photographers and stylists. It was like entering another world.

    Mary was talking to a tall black-dressed woman at the reception desk. After chatting, the woman gave Mary a garment bag. I was stunned when Mary smiled, took the bag, and headed toward the back double doors.

    I followed her from afar and entered the room as the doors closed without thinking. It felt like another world within.

    There were dazzling lights, mirrors, and racks of gorgeous clothes. A photographer set up his gear on the far side of a huge runway in the center of the room.

    After Mary disappeared behind a curtain, I stood paralyzed. Not knowing what to do. Should I confront her now? Should I wait to see her true intentions?

    My mouth almost dropped as she came out from behind the curtain before I could decide.

    She changed.

    No more basic clothes or exposed face. Her red dress hugged her well, and her hair fell in loose waves about her shoulders. She wore crimson lipstick, smokey eyes, and everything. She looked stunning. Like a different person.

    As she walked the runway with assurance, my heart raced. She breathed deeply and then strutted down the runway with grace and precision. The photographer quickly snapped every moment.

    What I saw shocked me. My wife, who always insisted on being natural and comfortable, was a model. Why didn’t she tell me?

    My chest tightened with rage, frustration, and hurt over her keeping this hidden.

    Once the photoshoot was complete and she was back in her clothing, I moved. I emerged from behind a column as she headed to her car.

    “Mary,” I said, attempting to speak clearly.

    She swung around, shocked eyes wide. “Jonathan? Why are you here?

    Breathing deeply, I tried to control my emotions. “I could ask you the same. You said you worked at an IT company, yet I saw you modeling.”

    She looked caught off guard and didn’t say anything. She sighed, her shoulders dropping like if the world had fallen on them.

    “Jonathan… I regret not telling you,” she said. “I always wanted to be a model, but I thought you wouldn’t understand. When given the chance, I couldn’t resist. I did it for fun, not money. However, this felt like violating my ideals, which you appreciate about me. So I didn’t tell you. I wanted to avoid disappointing you.”

    Her words shook me. Her eyes showed vulnerability and concern that I could criticize or love her less. Instantly, everything clicked. She wasn’t keeping anything from me out of malice or lying; she was hiding from herself, from the fear that she wasn’t being enough.

    “Mary,” I whispered, approaching. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of chasing your dream. No matter your appearance, I love you. I support you if this makes you happy. Just promise me no more secrets.”

    She glanced up at me with tears in her eyes, and I thought she would cry. Nodding, she smiled slightly in appreciation.

    “I promise,” she muttered, emotional. “Thanks, Jonathan.”

    I hugged her tightly as if I could erase all the uncertainty and anguish. I understood then that our love could embrace our hidden dreams and pieces of ourselves we were reluctant to express.

    I retreated, brushing a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “By the way,” I remarked to lighten the mood, “I think Jazmin makes a pretty good princess too.”

    She laughed, a true laugh that eased our anxiety. “She does, doesn’t she?” Mary asked, beaming.

    We laughed, and a secret that could have divided us became a link that pulled us closer.

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