It was a wonderful day. You cleaned the whole house; the baked duck was in the oven, and you were waiting for your husband to return.

Until you started doing laundry.

As you sorted the clothes by color from the basket and put them in the washing machine, you found a trace of red lipstick on Phillip's shirt. It was not yours.

“Oh God, don't be a fool, babe,” he tossed the shirt onto the couch, taking your hands. “This could be your lipstick. Stop blaming me.”