Claire had always prided herself on keeping a spotless home. So when faint green smudges began appearing—on her couch, her bedsheets, even her beige rug—she was baffled. She blamed everything from laundry detergent to mold. She even stopped wearing her favorite green hoodie, just in case.
But no matter what she cleaned or replaced, the green kept coming back.
It wasn’t until she noticed the stains were concentrated around one side of the bed and the guest room that her stomach dropped. Her husband, Mark, had been acting odd—sudden showers after “workouts,” secrecy with his phone, and a new cologne that didn’t smell like him at all.
One night, while he was asleep, she unlocked his phone with a fingerprint scan. There it was—direct messages from a woman with dyed green hair and a penchant for selfies in Old Navy jeans. Claire’s eyes widened. The color matched the strange smudges.
The green wasn’t from laundry. It wasn’t mold. It was her husband’s guilt—left like footprints through the life they built together.
By morning, Claire had packed a bag. She didn’t yell. She didn’t cry. She just left a note:
“Turns out you weren’t just tracking in dirt. You brought someone else’s mess into our home. I won’t be cleaning it up anymore.”
