The Glitter Is Blinding

The glitter is blinding if you don’t know how to squint.

That was the first thing I learned about Troy.

He wasn’t the kind of man you stumbled into casually. He was the kind of man who looked at you the way you always wanted to be looked at—as if you were the most fascinating, most beautiful creature in the room. It was the same quality Nick Carraway noticed when he first described Gatsby’s smile: “It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself…”

That was Troy’s gift. And for a while, I let myself believe it too.

We’d actually known each other for years—flirty, casual gym friends. A smile here, a little banter there. Nothing serious. Nothing that ever seemed like it could become more. For a long time he was just the impossibly handsome man I’d notice across the weight room—the kind of handsome that felt almost unfair, like Rob Lowe in his midlife prime—nothing more than eye candy to admire while I carried on with my own life.

It wasn’t until Caleb and I opened our marriage that Troy truly entered the frame. And conveniently, it was the same season he had just broken up with Natalia—his beautiful, impossibly glamorous Slavic girlfriend. Suddenly the timing aligned. Suddenly the possibility was there.

By then I’d had a few flings, little adventures that scratched curiosity but never pierced too deep. Troy was different. He was the first man I truly fell in love with while still being married. My first significant extracurricular relationship, so to speak.

When I finally told him I was interested, I framed it in the only way I thought might make sense: I don’t want to get married. I don’t want more kids. I already have a full life of my own. I just want… something else.

Not an escape from my life, but an escape within it. A shimmering side door into indulgence. The chance to be swept up in the sparkle.

And Troy had sparkle in spades. Front-row tickets to the best shows. The kind of restaurant seating you couldn’t normally buy your way into. Flights that were always first class, never coach. He lived in a world where extravagance was the baseline, not the reward. Glitter was his currency.

But glitter isn’t gold. And even as I indulged, a part of me knew it wasn’t real.

That was my advantage: I knew how to squint. I could take in the shine without confusing it for permanence. Most of the time.

But not always.

There were moments when I let myself look straight into the glitter. When I wanted to believe the gestures were more than performance, that they might carry a promise. Especially in the darker seasons—those hollowed-out days when I was raw and desperate to be dazzled again. In those moments, I was as blinded as anyone.

And being blinded has consequences. Because when I let myself get swept away—when I let the sparkle feel like salvation—it almost cost me everything. My marriage. My home. The solid love I had with Caleb.

The glitter was beautiful, intoxicating, impossible to resist. But it carried a weight I didn’t see until it was too late. A weight that would lead to betrayal. A weight that nearly broke the life I had built.

That was the curse of Troy’s gift: he loved fiercely in the moment, but he could never carry the weight of anything beyond it.

The glitter was blinding. And sometimes, even I forgot to squint.