Red Lipstick On My Wedding Photo
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Summary
On the eve of our tenth anniversary, my husband—a man who had never once possessed a romantic bone in his body—suddenly suggested we do a wedding photoshoot.
He said he wanted to make up for the regrets of our youth, to compensate me for all the grueling years I’d spent by his side.
But when I arrived at the studio, I found the display print of my solo portrait defaced. Someone had taken a tube of lipstick and scrawled whore right across my face.
His twenty-something assistant, Lexi, stood there with tears welling in her doe eyes.
