01 Lately, my husband has been carrying a foul odor. It's hard to describe. It's like a backed-up septic tank mixed with the smell of rotting fish. Whenever he gets close, the stench intensifies, making me sick to my stomach. "Elaine, can we... tonight?" He hugged me from behind again, his warm breath on my neck. But the first thing to hit me was that familiar, putrid smell. My stomach churned. I shoved him away. "Marcus, you smell disgusting!" The desire on his face vanished, replaced by a flash of annoyance. "Elaine, are you sick? How many specialists have we seen? They all said I'm fine! What the hell is your problem?" I rolled my eyes. He was right. His medical reports were perfect. Not even the slightest sign of inflammation. But I was born with a hyper-sensitive nose, and I couldn't stand this smell. It was exactly like a sewer. 02 Marcus stormed into the bathroom, his face dark. The sound of the shower filled the silence. I sighed, frustrated. Tonight was his birthday, and I still couldn't bring myself to be intimate. As long as this smell existed, our marriage was on hold. I rubbed my temples, annoyed. My eyes landed on the smartwatch on the nightstand. It was the birthday present I’d given him just this evening. Marcus is a tenured professor at a top-tier university. He’s always buried in research and grant proposals. Nearing fifty, he needs to watch his health. So, I got him a watch that tracks his heart rate. I picked it up, idly exploring its features. Suddenly, the watch vibrated and two messages popped up on the screen. [Prof, can we not do it in the office next time?] [It still hurts.] My fingers froze. Professor? Office? Hurts? The words hit my brain like hammers. And then, I understood. Oh. That's why he stinks. He's cheating. Well, that solves that. 03 Looking back, Marcus had been acting strange for two months. He's an engineering professor. His life is lectures and his lab. This is a man who wouldn't notice if his collar was inside-out. But two months ago, he suddenly started caring about his appearance. He started researching anti-aging serums and skincare. He'd stand in front of the mirror at night, tapping toner onto his face like some influencer. His phone, once tossed carelessly on the counter, became his lifeline. He took it into the shower. He slept with it under his pillow. He even clutched it in his hand when he went to the bathroom. When he looked at his screen, he’d subconsciously angle his body away, shielding it. Once, I brought him a plate of fruit and got too close. He flinched like a startled rabbit and locked his phone. When I asked, he always had an excuse. "It's just my grad students. They might message about the experiment at any time." Right. He's been teaching for twenty years, but now he's this dedicated. 04 The watch buzzed again. It was a reply from Marcus. [Don't worry, no one ever goes to that office.] [I'll buy some cushions for the chair. You won't get bruised.] [Remember to use the cream I got you. To help with the swelling.] The affair was confirmed. I picked up my glass of water and took a long drink. The cold liquid barely cooled the acid rising in my throat. My heart felt like it was in a vise. Marcus and I were the model couple. We’d been together since college. Twenty-five years. We survived the poverty of grad school, paid off our mortgage together, and earned our professorships together. To everyone else, we were a perfect team. But while I was settling into our life, he was building a new one somewhere else. I swiped open the watch's message interface. The student's username was "C-is-for-Courage." The avatar was a cartoon cat. It was the kind of cutesy avatar all the kids use. Our own daughter had a similar cartoon dog one. The thought that my husband's lover was my daughter's age made me feel even sicker. Just then, the shower stopped. I quickly put the watch back on the nightstand, slid under the covers, and pretended to be asleep. Marcus walked out, wrapped in a cloud of steam. The foul odor was temporarily masked by his body wash, but it was still there, seeping through. The mattress dipped on his side. I lay in the dark, my eyes wide open. 05 Who was "C-is-for-Courage"? I started running through a mental list. Names starting with C. Chris? Cole? Chloe? Wait. That new female student Marcus had brought on this year... her name was Chen. Chloe Chen. Marcus’s engineering department was a notorious boys' club. He was famously sexist. I’d argued with him about it dozens of times. "Women are just as capable in STEM, Marcus. You can't just dismiss them." He’d scoff. "Their logic isn't the same. They do fine in undergrad, but they can't handle the pressure of real research." He once said, "By the time a woman gets her PhD, she's an old maid. Her mind isn't on academics; it's on finding a husband. It's a waste of grant money." Every student he ever mentored was male. But this year, he made an exception. He brought on a female student. Chloe Chen. And he wouldn't stop praising her. "She's meticulous in the lab," he’d say. "Her data is perfectly organized. So much better than the sloppy boys." At the time, I was relieved. I thought he’d finally overcome his prejudice. Now, I had to wonder. Was he really praising her academic skills? I pictured Chloe. A quiet girl, pale skin, always in a hoodie and black-rimmed glasses. She looked like the studious, serious type. I had even envied Marcus for finding such a good student. How ironic. Why? It’s hard enough for women in STEM. Why would she throw her career away on a shortcut that would only end up hurting her and every woman who came after her?
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