MY 5-YEAR-OLD STARTED WEARING MY WIFE’S HIGH HEELS AND USING HER LIPSTICK, UNINTENTIONALLY REVEALING HER SECRET.
It had been going on for a month: every day when I came home, my little daughter, Jazmin, would greet me in her mom’s high heels, exclaiming, “I’m a princess like Mom!” Each time, I hugged her and told her how beautiful she was, but I couldn’t shake the nagging question: Why is this happening?
My concern stemmed from the fact that my wife NEVER wore heels. She only owned one pair, and she never applied makeup, always claiming it was uncomfortable for her. It’s one of the reasons I love her—she embraces her natural self.
Yesterday, I finally asked Jazmin:
Me: “Sweetheart, you always say you look like Mom, but Mom never wears heels.”
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The amusing aspect of life is its ability to catch you off guard, flipping your world upside down in an instant.
Something similar occurred for me when I uncovered a shocking truth about the woman I love.
I’m Jonathan, and until a few weeks ago, I believed I had everything under control.
I’m just a regular guy leading a simple life. I’ve been married to Mary for six years, and we have a delightful little girl, Jazmin. She’s the joy of my life, a spirited five-year-old with her mother’s dark eyes and my tenacity.
Jazmin has that special charm that can light up a room the moment she walks in.
As for Mary… she has always been my steadfast support.
She’s a woman who doesn’t need to pretend; she’s self-assured, genuine, and at ease with who she is. That authenticity was one of the many qualities that first attracted me to her.
Mary has never been into makeup or flashy attire.
She owns just one pair of high heels, and I believe I’ve only seen her wear them a couple of times throughout our relationship.
Mary has always claimed that heels are too uncomfortable, and makeup simply isn’t her style. I’ve cherished this about her: her genuine nature.
But recently, something has felt off, and I can’t quite pinpoint it.
It all started about a month ago when I returned home from work, weary yet eager to see my family.
There was Jazmin, wobbling around in those very high heels, proud and cheerful, beaming from ear to ear.
“I’m a princess like Mom!” she exclaimed, her tiny voice bursting with excitement. Each time, I’d lift her up, kiss her cheek, and say, “You’re the most beautiful princess in the world, Jazzy.”
She’d giggle and wrap her little arms around my neck. However, as the days went by, a troubling thought began to nag at me.
Why was this happening?
The heels, the lipstick… where was she getting these ideas? It didn’t add up. Mary never wore heels or lipstick.
I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her in anything besides her usual flats and perhaps some lip balm. The more I pondered, the more it gnawed at me.
One evening, after another exhausting day, I sat at the dinner table, pushing my food around my plate, trying to comprehend it all. Mary was in the kitchen, humming as she washed dishes, while Jazmin played on the floor.
She was with her dolls, which now sported little red streaks on their faces, mimicking lipstick.
That’s when I realized I could no longer ignore it.
I called Jazmin over, lifting her onto my lap. “Hey, Jazzy,” I began, keeping my tone casual, “you always say you look like Mom, but Mom never wears heels.” She blinked at me, wide-eyed, as if I’d just spoken the most perplexing thing. “She does!” Jazmin insisted, nodding enthusiastically.
“Every day when you go to work.” My heart skipped a beat.
“What do you mean, every day?” “Mommy has lots of heels,” she explained, her voice filled with innocent certainty. “She takes them and drops me at Aunt Lily’s house. I see her using red lipstick in the car, and then she leaves.” I swear, at that moment, time seemed to stand still.
I stared at my daughter, my mind racing, struggling to process her words. Heels? Lipstick?
Dropping her off at Lily’s? “Are you sure, Jazzy?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “You see Mom wearing heels and lipstick?”
She nodded again, completely unaware of the panic swelling in my chest.
“Uh-huh! She looks really pretty, Daddy.
But she only wears them when you’re not home.” I tried to keep my expression calm, but inside, I was spiraling. What was happening?
Was Mary… hiding something from me? Cheating on me?
Just then, Mary walked into the dining room, drying her hands on a dish towel. She looked at us with her usual soft, genuine smile, but now that smile made my stomach twist.
“What are you two whispering about?” she asked playfully, coming over to ruffle Jazmin’s hair. “Nothing, just chatting about princesses,” I managed to say, my voice sounding foreign to my ears. But inside, I was screaming.
What was happening with my wife?
And why did our daughter seem to know more than I did?
The next morning, I found myself sitting in the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles pale.
I told Mary I had an early meeting and left the house at dawn, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
She smiled up at me, half-asleep, oblivious to my true intentions.
I drove around the block a few times before parking a little way down the street, ensuring I could still see our front door. My heart raced in my chest, and I could hardly think straight.
At exactly 8:30 a.m., Mary stepped outside, looking just like she always did: hair tied back, no makeup, dressed in her usual jeans and a simple blouse.
She carried a tote bag over her shoulder, which was also typical. She waved quickly to Jazmin, who was at the window with her dolls, then walked down the driveway to her car.
I waited until she drove off
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