From Lies to Divorce

The plastic bag crinkled against my palm as Cameron thrust it toward me, his smile stretched wide across his face like he'd just presented me with the crown jewels. "Happy birthday, Em. I picked these out myself."

I stared at the wrinkled grocery bag, the kind we used for trash, and felt something cold settle in my stomach. This was it? After three years of marriage, this was how my twenty-eighth birthday began?

"Go on, open it," Cameron urged, settling onto our threadbare couch with the satisfied air of a man who'd just solved world hunger. "I think you'll really like what I found."

My fingers trembled as I reached inside, pulling out a floral sundress. The fabric felt soft enough, a cheerful yellow pattern that might have been pretty once. Might have been, if it hadn't reeked of someone else's perfume – something floral and expensive that made my nose wrinkle.

"There's more," Cameron said, watching my face intently. "I got you a whole wardrobe update."

A blouse came next, silk-like material in pale blue, followed by a cardigan that still held the shape of someone else's shoulders. Each piece carried that same cloying fragrance, that same sense of being worn and discarded. My hands moved mechanically, laying each item across my lap like evidence in a trial I didn't want to be part of.

"Try the dress on," Cameron commanded, his voice taking on that edge it got when he expected immediate gratitude. "I want to see how it looks."

I retreated to our bedroom, my reflection catching in the cracked mirror as I pulled the dress over my head. The fabric settled against my skin like a lie, and when I lifted the collar to my nose, the perfume hit me full force. Underneath it, I caught something else – the faint trace of makeup, a foundation shade three shades darker than my pale complexion.

When I emerged, Cameron's eyes lit up with an approval I hadn't seen in months. "See? Much better. You look actually feminine for once."

The words hit like a slap. "Cameron, this dress... it smells like—"

"Like what? Like I actually put thought into getting you something nice?" His expression darkened, the pleased mask slipping away. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find decent clothes on our budget? I spent hours picking these out, thinking about what would look good on you, what might help you look more... put together."

I touched the collar again, feeling the stiff residue of concealer against the fabric. "There's makeup on it."

"So what? It's from the store. People try things on." Cameron's voice grew sharp, defensive. "You're being ridiculous, Emma. Ungrateful. Do you know what most husbands would do for their wives' birthdays? Nothing. At least I'm trying to help you."

Help me. The words echoed in the small space between us, and I felt something crack inside my chest. When had I become a project that needed fixing? When had