Two Towels

TWO TOWELS

Two towels ended the relationship with her boyfriend. It sounded absurd even to Kassidy—like the kind of story someone might tell with a laugh years later. But there was nothing funny about how it unfolded, nothing humorous about the moment she realized she was done. She was not entirely sure if Ben’s increasing paranoia caused the shift in their relationship or if it was a natural progression as the relationship evolved. For three years, his constant accusations, incessant questioning, and disbelief had worn her down. What began as subtle insecurity had grown into a suffocating fog around them. Kassidy felt drained, scraped hollow. She often stared at herself in the mirror—and didn’t recognize the woman looking back.

Ben supposedly triggered by repeated infidelities in his past relationships. Ben had told her, early on, that he'd been cheated on in every one of his past relationships. He never gave details, only fragments – enough to build a sympathetic frame but never enough for her to know the truth. She used to hold him at night and reassure him she wasn’t like those women. But over time, that sympathy morphed into something else—exhaustion, fear, resentment. His wounds now projected onto Kassidy. She started to question herself – Have I done something wrong?

THE PROPOSAL

Three weeks before the towel incident, Ben had proposed. It was a cloudy, cold day with drizzling rain. In November, a hint of snow was in the forecast. He was driving her to their favorite restaurant when the dread crept in - uninvited, sharp. Is he going to propose? She muttered "Oh no” before she could stop herself. He quickly glanced at her with hesitation, but she tried to pass it off as something positive. When she noticed the bottom of the bluff where they had once hiked, she knew. It was close to his house. Convenient. Familiar. Easy. She tried not to feel disappointed. Did he give any thought to a place she might find romantic? But if Ben had asked, what would she choose? She couldn’t even think of a better place. Maybe, she reasoned, with the right person, it wouldn’t matter where it happened.

They had looked at rings about a month earlier. Kassidy felt excited - giddy, the way most women might feel being in such a place, gazing at rings. One ring, an Emerald cut, caught her eye immediately; the way it sparkled was breathtaking. Ben took a picture of it and said he would not forget it.

Halfway up the bluff, he stopped abruptly by a bench. He knelt. In the small box he opened, the ring looked just like the one she loved: elegant, sparkling. She said “Yes!!” even though her stomach dropped with the knowledge that she didn’t mean it. They called almost everyone they knew that night, including her mother. She let herself enjoy the glow- even if it felt like a story she was pretending to star in.

CHURCH

About a year into dating, Kassidy had invited Ben to her church. Being shy, she liked the anonymity of a large evangelical church. The band’s worship music was always upbeat. The pastor’s sermons kept her attention. Inviting Ben had felt vulnerable. She had wanted to share something important with him. He seemed to enjoy it. She hoped it meant they could finally do something beyond just the two of them. Ben rarely wanted her in crowds. He had even once claimed her friends were jealous of their relationship. Other times, he blurted out, "Your friends probably wish you were with someone else." Kassidy had no way to respond without it feeling like a trap.

Slipping into the passenger side of the car, Kassidy felt excited about leaving the church service. They were planning to go out to a fun restaurant. But the second he pressed the ignition, Ben’s face shifted. Dark. Tight. His eyes narrowed, head shaking, as if he was in pain. “You were looking at a guy in there.” Kassidy laughed at first, stunned. He clarified: the man three rows up. She felt her breath quicken. “What? When? No, Ben. I was looking at the stage—the band. I love to people-watch. I wasn’t looking at anyone specifically.” She pointed out the absurdity. She asked – for the first time – if he needed help. Because this wasn’t normal jealousy, this was something more profound, darker. And when she finally asked, “Ben, are you sure you’re not the one who cheated in the past?” his denial came fast and wounded.

After that, his questions multiplied. She began monitoring herself – where her eyes went, how long they lingered, how she smiled at waiters. She felt him watching her. She felt herself adjusting, tightening, shrinking.

THE WEEKEND

Three weeks had passed since the engagement. Families and friends beamed with excitement about the engagement. Kassidy thought the ring might help Ben feel secure in their relationship. Part of Kassidy hoped the ring would also settle her doubts. In the jewelry store, the ring looked beautiful and sparkly on her thin ring finger. But now, no matter how she turned it or the lighting, it didn't sparkle like before. Kassidy felt the same way about herself at the time – dull and muted.

Because they each had a child from previous marriages, they alternated weekends. Kassidy was grateful for the hour of distance between their homes. That evening, Kassidy had just finished a hot shower and was getting dressed. She heard the front door open from her upstairs bedroom. She eagerly called down to him to come inside. The spring weather was still bitterly cold, so Ben lit a fire in her wood-burning fireplace. The flames glowed warmly. The two sipped wine and shared a pizza.

Ben disappeared upstairs to use the bathroom. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. She called out to see if he was OK. No response. She reluctantly went upstairs. When she found him, Ben was sitting on the toilet seat, rocking, hands pressed to his forehead. He painfully stared at the shower. At first, she was scared that something terrible had happened. Maybe he was sick or his son had called, or… “Ben, what happened? What’s wrong?” No response. She persisted. Minutes passed. Silence. Finally, he pointed at the shower. Her heart raced, “What’s wrong with the shower?” His jaw trembled. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the shower. Again, “Ben, did you see something?” He whispered, “Two towels.” Kassidy, in disbelief, “What?” His voice cracked into a shout, “There are two towels hanging on your towel rack. Who was here?”

Stunned. At first, she couldn’t speak. This can’t be real. She tried to explain: her long hair, one towel for her hair and one for her body, how she always kept several on the rack.

Two towels.

“Ben,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “I can’t live like this.”

It seemed like such a small thing.

But the towels weren’t the cause.

They were the revelation.