MY BOYFRIEND LEFT A BRIGHT RED LIPSTICK TUBE UNDER HIS CAR SEAT
I was just reaching for Michael’s heavy duffel bag on the backseat floor when my fingers brushed against something small.
I pulled it out from under the seat. A tube of lipstick, small and unexpected in the clutter. Not just any lipstick, but a bright, unmistakable red. The kind he always joked about hating. My stomach dropped immediately, a sickening lurch I knew was coming.
It definitely wasn’t mine; I haven’t worn red in years. The cheap metal felt cold and alien in my hand, a stark contrast to the sudden, burning heat flooding my cheeks. I could almost smell the faint, overly sweet floral scent still clinging stubbornly to the plastic.
He walked back to the car then, keys jingling innocently, totally oblivious to what I held. “What’s that?” he asked casually, reaching for it. I instinctively held it tighter. “Whose is this, Michael?” I demanded, my voice shaking more than I intended.
He froze instantly, his smile vanishing. His eyes darted away, jaw tight. He stammered something about finding it weeks ago, calling it old trash. But it looked brand new, perfectly clean, feeling recent.
Then I noticed the tiny embossed ‘S’ near the bottom of the tube.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he took in the embossed ‘S’. “Okay, okay,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s… it’s Sarah from work. We carpool sometimes, remember? She must have dropped it.”
“Sarah?” I repeated, incredulous. “The Sarah who’s been conveniently working from home for the past two weeks?” My voice dripped with sarcasm.
He avoided eye contact, kicking at a loose pebble on the pavement. “Look, I can explain. We… we had a late night at the office. End-of-quarter crunch. She was upset about something, and I… I walked her to her door.”
The implication hung heavy in the air. “And the lipstick just jumped into your car?” I challenged.
He finally met my gaze, his eyes pleading. “It was a mistake, okay? A stupid, drunken mistake. It didn’t mean anything.”
Tears welled up, blurring my vision. I wanted to scream, to throw the lipstick at his face, to run away and never look back. But instead, I took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control.
“I need some time, Michael,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I need time to think about what you’ve just told me.”
I tossed the lipstick back into the car, the sound echoing in the tense silence. Grabbing Michael’s duffel bag, I walked away, leaving him standing there, alone, the truth shimmering in the afternoon sun like a cruel, distorted reflection.
I knew things would never be the same. The trust was broken, and whether we could ever piece it back together, I honestly didn’t know. But one thing was certain: I deserved better than a sloppy explanation and a discarded tube of bright red lipstick.