Natasha Knows Scents

My husband is into my sister. I saw it with my own eyes at my own dinner table…

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My husband stopped seeing me. Two whole years. Then he started staring at my sister across my own dinner table — and what she whispered to me by the sink brought my marriage back in 3 days. Lord, I never thought I'd put my business out here like this. But if one woman who feels invisible in her own house reads this and it helps her, then me being embarrassed don't matter one bit. My name ain't important. What matters is that for two years I lived next to a man who looked straight through me like I was a window. We slept in the same bed and might as well have been two strangers at a bus stop. He'd come home from work, drop his keys, eat his dinner staring at that phone, and turn his back to me. I cooked. I cleaned. I was the "good wife" — and I was disappearing a little more every single day. You know that feeling? When you're standing in your own kitchen and it's like you ain't even in the room. I used to cry in the shower so he wouldn't hear me. Turn that water up loud and just stand under it till it passed. I blamed it on my age. On being tired. On "baby, this is just how it go after fifteen years." I talked myself into believing the passion just leaves and that's normal. That I should be grateful the man hadn't up and left me. I stopped buying myself nice things. Stopped doing my hair for him — what was the point? I'd catch myself in that hallway mirror on my way to bed and hardly know the woman looking back at me. Tired eyes. A little forced half-smile. A woman who had quietly agreed to become a piece of furniture in her own marriage. I told myself that's just what getting older look like. That the woman he used to chase around the kitchen and kiss on the neck was gone for good, and I best make peace with her ghost. And then came that dinner. We had my big sister over. She's 53, just came out of a divorce — her husband left her for a young thing and left her broke down. I was expecting the sister I'd seen all year to come through that door: dim, teary, wrapped up in some old cardigan. Honey, a whole different woman walked in. Little black dress. Chin up. And this... glow. Wasn't the makeup, wasn't the dress — something else. She walked in the room and I promise you the air changed. And then I saw something I hadn't seen in two years. My husband lifted his head. He jumped up to pull out her chair. Laughed at every joke she made. Kept leaning in toward her, over and over, like the man couldn't get enough air and was catching it right next to her. All night he never once looked at me like that. But he could not stop looking at her. I gripped that counter till my knuckles went pale. One thought just kept beating in my head: "Lord, is it my own sister? My own blood? Did she come in here to take my husband?" But then I noticed something else. And that scared me even more. It wasn't just him. Right there at my table sat my girlfriend's husband — and he couldn't take his eyes off her neither. The gentleman she came in with hovered around her all night like a moth. Every man in that room turned toward her and didn't even know he was doing it. It wasn't her look. Wasn't her face. Wasn't that dress. It was something invisible. Something in the very air around her. I couldn't take it no more. When everybody stepped out on the balcony, I pulled her into the kitchen and near about hissed at her: "Girl, tell me the truth. What in the world is going on with you?" She looked at me a long minute. Then she smiled — that smile a woman gives you when she recognizes her old self in you. "You felt it too, didn't you, baby?" And she told me. "After the divorce I was laid out on the bathroom floor. Two o'clock in the morning. I thought my life as a woman was over — fifty-three years old, put out, wanted by nobody. And that night, scrolling my phone just to stop the thoughts, I came across this perfume. For women. Said it had pheromones in it. Now you know I don't believe in that mess. But it was two in the morning, it was twenty-nine dollars — two bottles for the price of one — and I was past caring. I ordered it." "Few days later it came. I put it on — just to do one nice thing for myself. And inside a week, strange things started happening. Men who ain't looked my way in years all of a sudden showing up. A coworker offered me a ride. My neighbor volunteered to fix my car. And then, child, something happened I still can't believe. I ran smack into my ex — the same one who left — at the mall. I had that perfume on. He froze up, like he was seeing me for the very first time. Couldn't stop staring. And that same evening, for the first time in all these months, he texted me his own self. Then again. And again. Asking how I'm doing, wanting to take me for coffee. Trying to come back home." She leaned in close and near about whispered it: "I'm not invisible no more. I'm dangerous again." And she said one word — quiet, like a secret you ain't supposed to say out loud: GODA. I stood there by that sink and it washed over me like a wave. Because that invisible woman she was describing? That was ME. Not after no divorce. Right now. In my own house. Next to a man who used to look at me like I was the only woman God ever made. I didn't wait. Picked up my phone right there in the kitchen and ordered two bottles while my sister was still sitting in my living room. Twenty-nine dollars. Chile, I spend more than that on one trip to the grocery store. "What in the world am I waiting on?" I thought. Package came three days later. I remember opening it with my hands shaking, feeling a little foolish. "You're fifty years old, and here you are believing in perfume off the internet." I put it on that evening. Didn't say one word to my husband. Not one. Just went on making dinner like always. He came in from work. Dropped his keys in the hall — same as every day. But then he stopped. Lifted his head. And slow, like he didn't even understand why, he breathed the air in. And found my eyes clear across the kitchen. His voice dropped down low: "Lord... what is that? Baby... come here." I had not heard that voice in fifteen years. That night he looked at me the way he did way back at the beginning. Not at his phone. At me. That was a few weeks ago. Now that man texts me from work in the middle of the day: "thinking about you." Comes home before dark — like he used to. Reaches for my hand when we walk down the street, like we're twenty-five all over again. He asks me to wear this perfume every single day. Begs me for it. And you want to know what's the funniest part? He still has no idea I paid twenty-nine dollars. He thinks it's some expensive designer thing. I'll let him keep on thinking that. For the longest time I was scared of one thing: that my sister came to take my husband. Now I know the truth. She didn't come to take nothing. She came to put the power back in my hands. Because it ain't just perfume. It ain't about the scent. It's about the way he SEES you again. It's about knowing the power you thought you lost with age never went nowhere — it was just waiting on you to switch it back on. If you're reading this and seeing yourself — a woman who became invisible in her own house — I'm asking you one thing. Don't wait two years like I did. Don't cry in that shower. You can still get them at the same price — two bottles for 29 dollars, buy one, get one free. I don't know how long that lasts, but it's still up for now: https://goda.co/products/goda-for-her If your man stopped looking at you — let him see exactly what he's about to lose. GODA 👉 https://goda.co/products/goda-for-her P.S. I went back and forth on whether to write this part... but I'ma say it. What's going on now in our bedroom, I didn't even feel that when we were twenty. That man looks at me like he's discovering me all over again — and honey, he acts like it too.