My husband wouldn’t look at me when we got back to the car. Just kept rubbing his forehead saying, “Please don’t get upset before I explain.”
Apparently the smell wasn’t from a skin condition at all.
It was coming from his dental bridge.
The dermatologist brought in another doctor after noticing the odor wasn’t on his skin but stronger near his mouth whenever he talked. Turns out my husband had flown to Tijuana six months earlier for “cheap implants” after lying about a work conference because our insurance wouldn’t cover the procedure.
The material they used inside his mouth had started rotting.
That’s why the dermatologist was laughing. Not to be cruel exactly — more like shocked somebody came to a skin clinic smelling like infected meat because their fake teeth were decomposing.
I should’ve felt bad for him honestly.
But then the oral surgeon asked why he waited so long to get help.
And my husband quietly admitted he’d already known for weeks.
He was just hoping I wouldn’t notice because we’d used part of our retirement savings for the procedure after he secretly drained a CD account my father left me.
Suddenly the smell wasn’t the worst thing in that room anymore.
The worst part was realizing he’d rather let his mouth rot than admit he stole from me.