When Love Went to Market

To help cover our household expenses, I often sold second-hand items online.

Late one night, a new listing suddenly appeared under my husband's account.

[Private trainer for sale. Almost new. Obedient and resilient. No upkeep required. Cash only.]

The attached photo showed a woman from behind, caught in the middle of a yoga pose. The red mole at her waist stood out clearly.

It was me.

The comments section erupted within seconds. Men with usernames like 'LocalHunter' started bidding aggressively.

[Five hundred. Thirty minutes. Pickup only. No negotiations.]

[Are you kidding? Two thousand. All night. I'll bring my own gear.]

My husband immediately replied to the highest bidder: Adrian 'The Butcher' Kane.

[Deal. She's in the bedroom. The door isn't locked. Go straight in.]

In the next moment, the bedroom doorknob slowly began to turn from the other side.

I was glued to that rickety old door, my hands drenched in a cold sweat.

Fumbling for the scissors that I had used for snipping loose threads, my grip was so shaky I could hardly keep hold of them.

A sliver of light appeared as the door creaked open.

The heavy reek of bottom-shelf tobacco and stale booze wafted in through the crack.

I stopped breathing, holding the scissors up like a shield, my teeth rattling in fear.

If I could not run, then it would be do or die.

"Honey, what's up? Why are you up with scissors in the dead of night?"

The door swung wide.

It was not some maniac butcher; it was Jeffrey Collins, my husband.

Clutching a grilled sausage, his face was beet red, his shirt collar undone.

The scissors clattered out of my hand and onto the floor.

My knees buckled, and I slumped onto the bed, heaving for breath, tears pouring down without restraint.

"You... It's you?" I pointed at him, my finger quivering like a leaf. "Why were you turning the doorknob so damn slow? Do you have any idea how terrified I was?"

Jeffrey stepped in, flinging the sausage on the table, avoiding my eyes.

"I was trying not to wake you, being stealthy and all. Is that a crime now?"

He moved to embrace me, but I shoved him back.

Shaking, I snatched up my phone, pulled up that second-hand app, and shoved the screen in his face.

"What's the deal with this? You posted this picture? And these comments, what's the story?!"

There on the screen, words blinking back at us: Adrian 'The Butcher' Kane.

Jeffrey took a quick look and burst out laughing. "Come on, it was just a stupid dare I lost with the boys. It was all in good fun!"

"All in good fun?" My voice spiked with panic. "You plastered my picture all over the internet, telling everyone our door's wide open? Jeffrey, have you lost your mind?

"Take it down! Right now!"

I lunged for his phone.

Jeffrey's expression turned stormy as he snatched the phone back and slammed it onto the bed.

"Why would I delete it? It's not like anyone cares; I've got it under control!"

He spun around, dug into a shopping bag, and flung a skimpy yoga outfit at me.

The material was laughably scant, reeking of tackiness.

"Put it on. Now."

Jeffrey sparked up a cigarette, puffing smoke in my face. "I played some cards, and won a bit. You will cheer me up tonight."

"No way am I changing into that."

I backed away. "Have you lost it, Jeffrey? I'm going to sleep."

Crash!

Jeffrey's temper exploded, his foot sending the trash can flying.

Trash tumbled out, splattering juice across the floor.

"Just change when I tell you to! Enough with the backtalk!"