Your Husband's Real Wife
Andrea reached for it slowly, already feeling a knot tighten in her chest.
It was a lipstick.
She held it up to the light, inspecting it like it might burn her. A glossy shade of red—bolder than anything she owned. The label was smudged but readable. “Crimson Kiss.”
Not mine, her thoughts whispered, unblinking. Definitely not mine.
Andrea rarely wore lipstick, and when she did, it was always subtle—peach tones, muted pinks, barely-there nudes. She never liked anything loud. Gabriel used to say she didn’t need makeup to look beautiful anyway.