Off The Record

My 5-year-old Started Putting On My Wife’s High Heels And Lipstick, Which Let Her Lie Out By Accident

Published on August 19, 2024

Life is funny in that it can take you by surprise at any time and completely upend your perspective.

I experienced something similar after learning a ground-breaking fact about the person I was in love with...

Jonathan is here, and I felt like I had it all worked out until a few weeks ago. I’m just a regular guy living a straightforward life. Mary and I have been married for six years, and our lovely little daughter, Jazmin, is ours. This spirited five-year-old with my rebellious streak and her mother’s dark eyes is the joy of my life.

Jazmin is the type of child who can bring a smile to your face simply by entering the room. Mary, on the other hand, has always been my rock. She’s the type of woman who is self-assured, organic, and content in her own flesh; she doesn’t need to put on airs. That was one of the things that initially drew me to her.

You see, Mary has never been one to dress up or wear makeup. In all the years we’ve been dating, I believe I’ve only seen her wear one pair of high heels, maybe twice.

Mary has consistently stated that she doesn’t wear cosmetics and that heels are too unpleasant for her. That’s something I’ve always admired about her: her genuineness. However, something hasn’t been right recently, and I’m not exactly sure what it is.

It all began approximately one month ago. After work, I would be worn out but excited to see my daughters when I got home. And there would be Jazmin, stumbling around in those exact same high heels, beaming with pride akin to a peacock and wearing an ear-to-ear grin. “I’m a princess like Mom!” she would exclaim, her little voice beaming with joy.

Every time, I’d scoop her up, kiss her cheek, and say, “You’re the most beautiful princess in the world, Jazzy.” And she’d giggle, wrapping her little arms around my neck.

However, as the days went by, that persistent feeling began to surface. Why is this taking place? Where was she getting the inspiration for the lipstick and heels? It was nonsensical.

Mary never applied lipstick or wore heels. I couldn’t remember when I’d seen her wearing anything save her typical flats and maybe lip balm. It gnawed at me more and more the more I considered it.

I sat at the dinner table one evening, exhausted from another exhausting day, and pushed my food around my plate, trying to make sense of it all. Jazmin was on the floor in her customary location, and Mary was singing as she cleaned the dishes. She was playing with her dolls, who had similarly developed small, lipstick-like crimson streaks on their faces.

That’s when I decided I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I called Jazmin over to me, pulling her up onto my lap. “Hey, Jazzy,” I started, keeping my tone light, “you always say you look like Mom, but Mom never wears heels.”

She blinked up at me, wide-eyed, as if I’d just said the most confusing thing in the world. “She does!” Jazmin insisted, nodding fervently. “Every day when you go to work.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean, every day?”

“Mommy has so many heels,” she explained, her voice full of that childlike 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.”

Time simply stopped at that very moment, I promise. I tried to take in what my daughter was saying as I looked at her, my mind racing. Heels? Lipstick? Leaving her behind at Lily’s?

“Are you sure, Jazzy?” My question came out as nothing more than a whisper. “You see Mom wearing heels and lipstick?”

She nodded again, completely oblivious to the panic that was starting to swell in my chest. “Uh-huh! She looks really pretty, Daddy. But she only wears them when you’re not home.”

I was reeling within, even though I was trying to maintain a neutral appearance. What was taking place? Was Mary… Did she have something to hide from me? Betraying me with falsehoods?

Mary decided to enter the dining room at that precise moment and use a dish towel to dry her hands. She turned to face the two of us, her smile as genuine and gentle as ever. Now, though, the smile turned my stomach.

She approached Jazmin to fluff her hair and inquired, in a fun way, “What are you two whispering about?”

I managed to say, “Nothing, just talking about princesses,” though my voice sounded strange to me.

But I was screaming inside. What was happening with my spouse? Why was our daughter seemingly more knowledgeable about it than I was?

The following morning, I was sitting in the car with my hands clenched around the steering wheel until my knuckles became white. I gave Mary a short kiss on the cheek before leaving the house before dawn, telling her I had an early meeting. Half asleep, she’d smiled up at me, oblivious to my true intentions.

After circling the block a few times, I parked a short distance down the street, where our front door was still visible. I was having trouble thinking clearly, and my heart was racing in my chest.

Mary left the house at precisely 8:30 a.m., looking exactly like she usually does: with her hair pulled back, no makeup, and her go-to trousers and top.

It wasn’t odd, either, that she had a tote bag hanging over her shoulder. After waving briefly at Jazmin, who was playing with her dolls in the window, she headed down the driveway to her car.

As I’d seen in those detective shows, I waited until she had driven off before following her and staying a few cars behind. I had the feeling of an amateur detective, only with far higher stakes because this was my wife’s life.

It took us roughly twenty minutes to reach a parking lot near her. Upon passing the door and noticing the “Radiance Modeling Agency” sign, I decelerated. My heart almost stopped. Why is she in this place? Without a doubt, this was not the IT firm she had informed me about.

I parked where I could see the front of the building—on the opposite side of the lot. I observed her as she exited the vehicle and entered. A thousand distinct ideas, each more perplexing than the previous, were racing through my head. I have to be aware of the situation.

Trying not to get too nervous, I walked towards the building after a few minutes. As the glass doors glided open, I entered a bustling foyer full of activity.

There were a lot of young ladies moving around, clutching portfolios and conversing with what appeared to be stylists and photographers. I had the impression that I had entered a totally new universe.

I noticed Mary conversing with a tall woman wearing a stylish black dress close to the registration desk. After a little conversation, the woman gave Mary a bag containing clothes. Bewildered, I watched as Mary grinned, grabbed the bag, and walked back toward a pair of double doors.

I followed her, not really thinking about it, and I slipped into the room right before the doors closed. It seemed like another universe within.

There were tons of mirrors, bright lights, and racks upon racks of glitzy clothing. A photographer set up his gear on the far side of the room’s huge platform, which served as a runway.

For an instant, Mary vanished behind a curtain, leaving me motionless. I had no idea what to do. Do I go up to her now and confront her? Should I hold off to find out her true intentions?

She emerged from behind the curtain before I could make up my mind, and I swear, my mouth dropped to the ground.

She had changed.

The bare face and the basic clothing had vanished. Her hair fell in loose curls about her shoulders, and she wore a lovely crimson dress that caressed her in all the right places. She had applied cosmetics, including smokey eyes and a vivid red lipstick. She appeared stunning, as if she were someone entirely else.

Watching her go on the runway with confidence radiating from her had my heart racing. Taking a deep breath, she started to saunter down the runway, every step purposeful, every gesture graceful, as if a switch had been flipped. With quick shutter clicks, the photographer caught every moment on camera.

I was seeing things that I couldn’t believe. Here, my spouse, the one who’s always insisted on seeming comfortable and genuine, was leading a double life as a model. How come she hadn’t told me?

Anger, bewilderment, and hurt tightened in my chest at the notion of her holding this secret.

I held off on moving until after the photo shoot was finished and she was back to wearing her everyday attire. I emerged from behind a nearby column and saw her making her way to her car.

“Mary,” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.

She whirled around, horror ringing in her eyes. “What about Jonathan? Why are you in this place?”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I could ask you the same thing. You told me you got a job at an IT company, but I just saw you modeling.”

She appeared to have been exposed, and for a brief instant, she remained silent. She let out a big sigh and sagged like though the world had just collapsed on top of her.

“Jonathan… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she began. “I’ve always dreamed of being a model, but I was afraid you wouldn’t understand. When I got the opportunity, I couldn’t resist. I wasn’t doing it for the money, just for the thrill of it, for the pleasure. But I also felt like I was betraying my own values—the ones you love about me—by doing this. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

Her remarks really got to me. Her anxiety that I might condemn her or love her less because of this was evident in her eyes. All of a sudden, it all made sense. This was her hiding from herself, from the concern that she wasn’t living up to the person she believed she needed to be, not something she was hiding from me out of malice or deception.

“Mary,” I stepped up and murmured softly. It’s not a reason to feel guilty for going after your dreams. Natural or not, I love you for who you are. I’m with you if this brings you joy. Please just assure me that there won’t be any more secrets.

Tears filled her eyes as she glanced up at me, and for an instant I thought she might cry. Rather than that, though, she nodded, a tiny, grateful smile peeking through.

She muttered, “I promise,” her voice full of emotion. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

I encircled her in my arms and held her close, feeling as though just one hug would solve all of the grief and confusion. And at that very moment, I realized that our love was powerful enough to embrace the parts of ourselves we were too scared to reveal—the fantasies we kept concealed.

I pulled back slightly, wiping a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “By the way,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “I think Jazmin makes a pretty good princess too.”

She laughed at that, really laughed, and that eased the tension between us. With her eyes gleaming, Mary remarked, “She does, doesn’t she?”

That’s when we both started laughing, and suddenly a secret that might have kept us apart grew closer to one another.