You think you know someone, but life has a way of proving you wrong. I thought my husband, Bradley, was just going through a phase—until I discovered why he painted our car bright pink.
My life had always seemed normal and almost boring. I married my college sweetheart, and we built a comfortable routine in our quiet neighborhood. Bradley was dependable, if a little predictable, and our days revolved around work, dinners in front of the TV, and weekend trips to the hardware store.
Then, out of nowhere, Bradley started acting strange. He’d been staying late at work a lot, always with some excuse about tight deadlines or impossible clients. At first, I didn’t think much of it. I’d get home from my job at the local library, fix myself a cup of tea, and settle into my usual evening routine.
One afternoon, he came home grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Guess what I did today?” he announced, practically glowing.
I looked up from my book, barely interested. “What?”
“I painted the car bright pink!”
I blinked in disbelief. “Pink? As in… PINK?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Hot pink. It looks awesome!”
My heart sank as I followed him outside. There it was: our once-subtle silver sedan, now a neon pink monstrosity. “What were you thinking?” I blurted. “We’re not teenagers!”
“It’s just paint. Life’s too short to be boring,” he shrugged, completely unfazed.
I tried to brush it off as a bizarre phase, a midlife crisis maybe, but every time I saw that car, I felt unease creeping in. A few days later, my friend Irene visited for tea. When she saw the car through the window, she snorted. “Oh my God, Kirsten! Who did you steal that from? The Pink Ladies?”
I rolled my eyes but noticed her serious expression. “Kirsten… are you sure that’s what this is?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She leaned closer, her voice low. “Bradley’s not trying to stand out. He’s trying to blend in.”
My stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”
Irene hesitated. “I’ve seen Bradley’s car parked outside Vanessa’s house—the young realtor whose husband’s always away.”
My heart raced. “You’re kidding!”
“I wouldn’t have believed it either, but I’ve seen it several times, always when her husband is gone. The pink car? Perfect cover.”
Determined to find out the truth, I decided to follow him. When he parked at Vanessa’s, I snapped a few photos. I knew how to get back at him.
I contacted a lawyer and informed Vanessa’s husband, Richard. When I sent him the pictures, he was furious. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, disbelief in his voice.
I made sure Bradley’s secret got out. I printed the photos and mailed them anonymously to his office, our neighbors, and even to Vanessa’s real estate agency. It didn’t take long for the truth to spread.
When Bradley came home that evening, he looked pale. “Someone’s spreading lies about me!” he protested.
I feigned innocence. “This is what happens when you sneak around and cheat on your wife.”
I pulled out the divorce papers I’d filed that morning and slid them across the table. “I’m done, Brad. You can keep your pink car and your lies. I’m taking my dignity and leaving.”
He stared at the papers, face crumbling. “Kirsten, wait—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You made your choice. Now live with it.”
I walked out of that kitchen with my head held high, ready to start over. The pink car was gone from our driveway the next day, and so was Bradley. I didn’t care where he went. I was finally free, and that was all that mattered.
