He Bought Her the Lingerie I Could Never Wear

My daughter Sophia never let me attend her gymnastics competitions, but this time she asked me to accompany her to a training camp in Toronto.

I was surprised. Ever since she started gymnastics classes, Sophia had been somewhat distant, especially when I tried to hug her. She would gently pull away, saying my stomach was too soft.

David immediately agreed. "I've already booked the flights and hotel. You leave tomorrow."

He acted so quickly I barely had time to say anything.

At the time, I didn't think much of it. I thought he was trying to give us a chance to mend our relationship.

Until the last day in our Toronto.

I sat by the window, my phone dead. I picked up Sophia's smartwatch from the nightstand, intending to share the week's events with David.

The phone rang for a long time before he answered.

"Sophia?" David's voice came through. "Dad's busy. Talk later."

I was about to hang up when I heard a woman's soft laughter.

"Who is it?"

My breath caught.

"David?" I whispered.

But there was no response. Only the sound of kissing, fabric rustling.

"Sophia. Don't worry about it."

The laughter sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"Aren't you afraid Emily will find out?"

"Don't worry," David said. "Sophia will find a way to stay a few extra days. I promised to buy her that professional gymnastics leotard she wants—the blue limited edition."

"Having sex in front of the mirror in your home gym... it's so much more thrilling than at my place," the woman said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

"You used to say you loved watching Emily dance. Does she even dare to look in the mirror now?"

"Her body... after having a child..."

"Ruined?" the woman finished quickly.

I could feel my hands trembling.

"So why don't you divorce her and marry me? Let's be together openly."

"Emily is my wife," David said, his tone suddenly serious. "She always will be. But you..."

A flicker of hope sparked in me.

He paused, his voice growing low. "You make me feel passion again. Her body... truly can't go back. But you're different—"

"Young and sexy."

The woman laughed again. "Remember that lingerie set? The black lace M-cup you bought for her, tags still on."

I remembered. An anniversary gift. David said it was "motivation to lose weight." I hid it in the deepest part of my drawer.

"She probably can't fit into it now, can she?" the woman's voice was sickly sweet.

"But it fits me perfectly. Want to know how I look wearing your wife's lingerie that she'll never fit into?"

"Don't..." David said, but his voice held no real objection.

"I'll put it on for you."

David laughed. "You really are..."

"Am what?"

"You're a little temptress."

Then came the sound of a deep kiss. The mattress began to rhythmically creak. I heard David's muffled gasps and the woman's exaggerated moans. They even made David think he'd hung up.

I couldn't stand those disgusting sounds any longer, so I ended the call.

I sat in the darkness, chilled to the bone.

I never imagined David would betray our marriage.

David and I met in college. I was in the gym, surrounded by a few senior cheerleaders picking apart my moves and my outfit. David had just finished football practice, sweating and walked over.

"She's better than all of you," he said, then took my hand. "At least she doesn't build herself up by tearing others down."

His palm was warm. My fingertips brushed the calluses from years of training.

The wind blew, carrying the scent of his sweat mixed with grass. My cheeks flushed.

Light from the hallway slanted in. I stole a glance at his sharp profile and realized for the first time that this campus star could have such gentle eyes.

We were together soon after.

Later, he'd share stories about his family. His father always had "female companions." David's mother knew but never confronted him. She'd buy new jewelry, plan new trips, pretending everything was fine, only to cry alone in private.

"I'll never become like him," David vowed. "If I love you, my eyes will only be on you. I'll never let you go through that."

I believed him.

At the graduation ball, the cheer captain, Lisa, approached David in a silver gown.

Everyone thought they belonged together. David shook his head, then, under the gaze of the entire crowd, walked toward me in the blue dress I'd sewn myself.

David took my hand, he whispered in my ear, "You outshine everyone here."

We married after graduation. David used his family connections to help me secure a spot at a design studio, promising to support my dreams. At seven months pregnant, I was still at the sewing machine, adjusting samples.

When Sophia was born, I had a difficult delivery. David waited outside the operating room, pale with worry.

When I woke, he gripped my hand tightly and said, "Let's never have another child. I can't risk losing you."

The year after Sophia's birth, David took over the family business. He placed a stack of documents on the dining table, his tone gentle but firm.

"Emily, I need your full support."

"My studio just landed two clients—"

"I'll cover the penalties," he took my hand. "Take care of home. Once things stabilize, I'll launch your personal brand, the best studio, whatever you want."

I looked at the design sketches spread on the table, the unfinished samples hanging on mannequins.

"Okay."

He helped me pack fabric samples into boxes, stored my award-winning pieces away. I told myself it was temporary.

But years passed. The boxes moved from the study to storage, finally ending up in the attic. My world shrank to home and school, while David's expanded.

Friends said I was lucky to marry a wealthy husband, free from the burdens of work. I nodded and smiled, but somewhere inside, I felt hollow.

After having Sophia, my body bore permanent marks. Stretch marks, loose skin, sizes I could no longer fit into.

At first, David would say, "Take your time." Later, he stopped mentioning it.

He stopped touching me, stopped any intimacy.

He said work was exhausting, the pressure was overwhelming. I believed him because I was tired too—tired from caring for a child, managing the household, striving to make this home appear perfect.

I sat on the bed, looking down at the stretch marks on my belly.

He didn't love me. He loved the girl who could wear size S, design beautiful clothes, and shine on stage.

My phone finally charged enough to turn on. The screen lit up with a new message.

The sender was Matthew. My college classmate, someone I'd pulled all-nighters with in design class.

[Emily, I'm currently working in the fashion industry and looking for the right partner. I remember your design talent from college. Interested in chatting?]

[I know you're focused on family now, but I still believe your abilities shouldn't go to waste.]

Staring at those words, I finally let the tears fall.