I never thought I’d hear these words come out of my husband’s mouth. We were sitting at the dinner table, talking about finances, when he casually suggested I consider joining the adult film industry. At first, I thought he was joking. I even let out a small laugh, waiting for him to crack a smile and say he was messing with me. But he didn’t. He was serious. Dead serious.

According to him, I had the perfect features for it—whatever that meant. He went on about how much money we could make, how we could finally afford the vacations we always talked about, maybe even pay off our mortgage early. “It’s just work,” he said, shrugging, as if he was suggesting I take up a side gig selling handmade jewelry. “It’s just acting. Plus, think about it—this could actually make our marriage stronger.”

Stronger? That’s when I truly felt like I was in some kind of twisted alternate reality. He wasn’t even jealous. If anything, he seemed excited about the idea of me being intimate with other men—for money, for us.

I stared at him, searching his face for some flicker of regret, a sign that he realized how absurd this was. But there was none. Just confidence, as if he had figured out some genius life hack.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run. Maybe all three.