I believed him when he said I smelled bad.
That’s the part that still makes my chest tighten when I think about it.
It started small—offhand comments, little wrinkles of his nose, a casual, “Did you shower today?” said with a laugh that never quite reached his eyes. At first, I brushed it off. Everyone gets insecure sometimes. Couples tease each other. I told myself I was being sensitive.

But then it kept happening.
I started showering twice a day. Sometimes three if I’d been out. I kept deodorant in my purse, my car, my desk drawer. I brushed my teeth five times a day until my gums ached. I changed soaps, laundry detergent, fabric softener, toothpaste. I Googled symptoms at night, convinced something was wrong with my body that doctors had somehow missed.

No matter what I did, the look on his face never changed.
He pulled away when I reached for him. Stopped kissing me goodnight. Started working late even when I knew his workload was light. And every time I tried to talk about it, he’d sigh and say, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

So I kept trying harder.
Then one afternoon, everything snapped into focus.
I was folding laundry when I heard his voice from the kitchen. Low. Nervous. I paused in the hallway, basket heavy in my arms, not meaning to eavesdrop—until I heard my name.“I can’t keep do-