My boyfriend, Ted, and I have been dating for three years, living together for two. Up until a few weeks ago, things were going great. He’d never given me any reason to think that something was amiss in our relationship. That was, until I found the hair.
Ted had taken a trip to the kitchen to grab a glass of water when I saw it - a long strand of stringy black hair glaring up at me from the sofa cushion. My heart plummeted into my gut. It obviously wasn’t mine. I’m blonde.
“Hey babe, what’s this?” I asked, pinching the hair between my fingers.
Confusion swept across his visage.
“Ew, I don’t know. Where’d you find that?”
“In your seat. You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Teddy,” I said, narrowing my eyes on him and tapping my foot.
He locked eyes with me, stern gaze unwavering, and told me, “Stacey, I would never lie to you. You know that.”
A pang of guilt stabbed me in the chest like a butcher knife. Maybe he wasn’t lying.
“That could’ve come from anywhere. Maybe you picked it up from a patient at work. I don’t know. Can we go back to watching the movie now?”
“I guess that makes sense. Mrs. Brannon does have black hair.”
“See? That’s gotta be it. You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. My anxiety is getting the best of me again. Sorry babe.”
I tossed the hair into the trash can beside the couch and patted his spot. Though Ted had managed to convince me that he was telling the truth, something still felt… off. Like a nagging sensation that I couldn’t shake. I should have trusted it.
The remainder of the week passed without incident. Ted went about his business, and I didn’t press him any further on the ordeal. But then it happened again.
I had just returned home from work, ready to settle in for my relaxing three day break from the ER. Nurses are seriously overworked, let me tell you.
I kicked off my shoes and sank into the couch. I looked to my left and groaned. The TV remote was missing again. I fished beneath the cushions, grappling aimlessly until my hand brushed something solid.
“Aha!” I triumphantly yanked the elusive bastard from its hiding place and held it up to the light. My jaw dropped when I finally laid eyes on it.
A bright red hair was snared beneath my thumb.
White-hot rage bubbled within me. How could he betray me like that? The man had looked directly into the windows of my soul and lied straight to my face. I was disgusted.
I marched up the stairs where Ted lay in our shared bed, snoozing soundly. I was beyond pissed, and I wanted answers.
“Ted. Ted. Wake up,” I growled, shaking his arm. He groggily opened his eyes.
“Oh, hey babe. What’s up?”
“What’s up? What’s up?? This is what’s up,” I hissed, shoving the red hair in his face.
“What color is this, Ted? Huh?”
“Wha- where’d you get that? And why are you asking me about it at one A.M.? You’re the one who found it. Maybe it came from you.”
“Ted, I found this in the couch. I have blonde hair. You have brown hair. Who’s fucking hair is this?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen it before. Your friend Beth has red hair, right? Maybe it’s hers.”
I pondered for a moment. I’d completely forgotten about Beth. I did have her over the week prior. It seemed like a plausible enough explanation.
“I, um, didn’t think about that. Sorry. I won’t bring it up again,” I conceded, cheeks blossoming with color.
“It’s fine. I’m going back to sleep now. Goodnight.”
“Night,” I mumbled, slinking away in defeat.
Was I overreacting? Surely Ted was right. I mean, hair clings to everything. Either one of us could’ve tracked it in.
I again lulled myself into a sense of security. That had to be it. There was nothing nefarious going on. Right?
I told myself that like a mantra for the rest of my break. The next week started like any other. I muddled through one twelve-hour shift, with another one lined up for the next day. Needless to say, I was beat.
Once I got home, I beelined straight for the shower. I was itching to feel that scalding water soothing my pores.
Steam clouded the mirror as I discarded my scrubs and let my hair down. I stepped in, leaning closer as the scorching droplets flowed down my back. I allowed myself a moment to revel in my fiery paradise, all the tension from my shift washing down the drain. Until I looked down.
Once I opened my eyes, I nearly threw up. Because a fat glob of jet-black hair was clogging the drain.
I stared at it in dumbstruck shock. Ted was lying. I’d been right all along. I snatched a couple towels from the rack, one for my hair and one for my body, and furiously wrapped myself up. As the steam began to dissipate, I began noticing things that I’d missed in my weary stupor.
There was a crack in the mirror that hadn’t been there before, claw marks were entrenched in the drywall in several places, and - oh, god. Was that the nasty slut’s period blood all over the floor?
That time I did throw up. All over the crimson-stained linoleum. Even if it was with my half-digested lunch, covering the splotches on the floor left me with a small semblance of comfort.
But that immediately dissipated when I realized what Ted had done. He’d been having rough sex with some dirty skank in our bathroom, hadn’t he? If he’d been this sloppy about it, he surely wasn’t worried about using protection either.
My head began to spin and my vision grew hazy. This couldn’t be happening. Up until recently, Ted had been a loving, faithful partner. But the evidence was there. The writing was on the wall. And it infuriated me.
I stomped downstairs with fire in my eyes. I was seeing red. I marched to the basement where I knew Ted was hiding.
I cautiously descended the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky steps, even in my overwhelming fury. I stopped halfway down. A muffled noise drifted from behind the door. I crept down the remaining stairs, pressing my ear up to the peeling white paint.
And that’s when I heard it. Heavy thumps accompanied by hushed screams. I knew that sound. Those were moans of pleasure. That absolute waste of space. He was still going at it.
My head buzzed with a nauseating concoction of pain, grief, and anger. In the end, rage won out. I seized the door handle, determined to catch them in the act. Locked. I should’ve known.
The rational part of me would’ve come up with a plan. Find a spare key, take pictures of the bathroom to use as proof, wait outside the door for them to inevitably come out. Any one of those options would’ve been smarter than what I did next.
“Ted! Ted! You sick piece of shit, open this damn door!” I screamed, pounding fervently against the flimsy wooden frame. I could hear a sudden commotion.
Hey. Get in there. OW. Thunk.
“Um, just a minute, honey.”
“Ted, I swear, if you don’t get your slimy ass out here right now, I’m going-”
The door swung open and I was suddenly face to face with the man I used to love so dearly. His hair was disheveled, obviously from the sex, and flecks of blood were splattered across his hands.
“Hey baby. I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until midnight.”
I couldn’t contain my fury any longer. I slapped him hard across the face. Tears began welling in my eyes.
“I got off at eight, you son of a bitch. How could you do this to me? I work grueling twelve-hour shifts, sometimes longer, to support us, and this is the thanks I get? Coming home to you banging some… some… some slut? We’re done. I don’t want to see your sorry face ever again.”
I turned to walk away, but Ted grabbed my arm.
“Wait. Stacey, just give me a chance to explain. I wasn’t having an affair. I-”
“You weren’t having an affair? Do you seriously expect me to believe that? I can see the little whore’s black hair sticking out from that cabinet. You must think I’m a complete moron if you expect me to buy that for even a second. Goodbye, Ted. Have a nice- no, you know what? Have a shit life, you spineless dick.”
I spun around, feeling Ted’s grip on my arm slipping away. Suddenly, the cabinet doors crashed open.
“Please, I need help!” the homewrecker cried. I balled my fists. My blood boiled. This chick ruined my relationship and now she was making up excuses? Pathetic.
“You’re damn right you do. Go talk to a psychiatrist,” I scoffed, without so much as a glance in her direction. I couldn’t bring myself to look at either of them.
The basement door slammed shut as I trudged back up the stairs. The muffled thumps and ruckus returned, even louder this time. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I packed my things. They didn’t even have the decency to wait until I’d left the house. Pigs. Both of them.
I grabbed what I could and stormed out. A strange numbness enveloped me on the drive to my parents’ house. I mean, I’d had my suspicions since I found the first hair, but I never would have expected that. It felt as if my entire world was crumbling, and I was helpless to stop it.
Once I’d arrived, I checked my phone to find a barrage of desperate calls and texts from Ted. My brows furrowed as I thumbed through the messages. He wasn’t groveling for my forgiveness like I’d expected. No, Ted was begging for me to come back down to the basement. He said there was something that he needed to show me.
A sinking sense of dread began to bubble in my gut. The hair. The girl. The basement. As I sit here writing this, I’m beginning to question if I made the right choice. Ted’s definitely been hiding something. He’s been bringing other women into our home. And I’ve got a growing suspicion that he’s been up to something much, much worse than having an affair.