After I got married, I started finding napkins smeared with lipstick in my pockets. The first time my wife discovered one, she was furious. I swore I had no idea where it came from, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. After that, it kept happening—crumpled napkins in my jacket, my jeans, even my work coat. Each time, my confusion turned into panic. I wasn’t cheating. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. But the evidence didn’t look good.

The tension built quietly for months.

Then one day, while looking for a bandage in my wife’s vanity, I slid open a bottom drawer by accident. Inside were more than forty identical lipsticks, neatly lined up—the exact same brand and shade as the stains haunting my pockets.

My wife walked in just as I froze in disbelief. She laughed so hard she had to sit down. Turns out, she’d been using napkins from my pockets to blot lipstick or test shades when she was rushing out, then forgetting about them entirely.

Relief hit instantly, followed by embarrassment. We talked, apologized, and laughed it off. Now it’s one of our favorite stories—a reminder that not every mystery is betrayal, and sometimes the simplest explanation really is the right one