My husband was a liar.
He said I was beautiful when I had blotchy morning skin and tangled bed hair.
He promised me my little black dress still looked amazing when I could no longer zip it properly, for fear of splitting the seams.
He told me he was going fishing for the weekend, ‘with the boys,’ – said he’d miss me – as he slipped aftershave and condoms into the pocket of his case.
He assured me the casserole was scrumptious, when I knew it must taste bitter.
He gasped his throat was closing, that he couldn’t breathe properly.
Finally, he told the truth.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Read the other entries here.