It takes a long time for a relationship to move past the awkward stages. For months, even years, we hide our worst habits from our significant other—and then one day, we just let it all hang out. Sometimes, the relationship is actually much better for it. These couples share the most embarrassing and unromantic moments that somehow made them stronger.
My husband got food poisoning and got diarrhea so bad that it went everywhere in our bathroom, and I accidentally sat in it. I cleaned everything off and jumped in the shower to clean his poop off while he was still going. Except then it got even worse. I started puking in the shower from the awful seafood food poisoning smells. Not a good time, but I love him.
I grew up with my grandparents because both of my parents had to work various jobs simultaneously, so my grandfather was my world. I took care of him during his last five years when he became bedridden. I tried to visit him as often as I could. He lived with an elderly aunt of mine who fed him, but he needed me to bathe him and, eventually, change his diapers and so on.
Early in our relationship, my now-wife would come over sometimes. One time I got to his house and found his fridge full and him watching TV, eating a bowl of ice cream. My wife had gone in a few hours before me without telling me. Six months later, I proposed.
My significant other puked in the parking lot on our first date. BEFORE we even got into the restaurant. I thought she was having second thoughts because she just got out of a horrible relationship. Nope, she was on her period and it was bad enough where she would puke. We're married now, though, so it didn’t stop us.
My boyfriend made me go to the gynecologist to talk about getting an operation after watching me struggle with crippling pain and bleeding every month for years. He said not to worry about money or anything else besides solving my problem. Fast forward about two months. I got an unforgettable call from my surgeon.
Apparently, I missed the fact that they did a biopsy when they removed my polyps—and found uterine cancer. Had I been stubborn and continued to ignore my miserable periods for years, who knows what would have happened to me. No one expects uterine cancer in someone under 30. My boyfriend then held me while I cried.
Then he took me to every appointment and helped me when I recovered after my hysterectomy. That dude is my rock.
The last few years before my mother passed on, she had horrible diarrhea and had lost most of her mobility. It was not uncommon for her to be unable to make it out of the bed, much less to the bathroom. Every time this would happen, my father would get up, get her to the bathroom and cleaned up, then go back into the bedroom, pull the sheets off their bed, put them in the wash, and finish off with putting fresh, clean sheets down.
I blacked out completely and then puked all over my then-boyfriend (now husband)—as well as the washroom and bedroom. I woke up wearing fresh clothes. He explained everything that had happened after me begging him to tell me. When he finally did tell me, it was so embarrassing that my face drained of all my blood and went white.
Apparently, I started trying to exorcise demons out of him and just projectile vomited everywhere. He managed to get me to drink some water, bathe me, get me to bed, and then deep clean the room and washroom. I was so embarrassed after. The only memory I have of that night is his cat looking at me with concern and judgment.
He was laying on his back on the floor. I stood over him and pulled my pants off my butt to pretend to break wind. It went horribly, horribly wrong. I was incredibly sick, and didn't even feel the squirt of watery poop I released on his belly. The utterly shocked face he made was the only indication something was amiss.
As soon as I realized, I freaked out, practically tore his shirt over his shoulders and headed to clean it up. He was only ever concerned with me being ok, never shamed me or made fun. It was a joke between us instantly, and when it became evident I needed surgery, I felt it added a degree of excuse. Now, it’s seven years later and we still laugh when he says matter-of-factly, "You pooped on me." I reply, full of whine, "I was SICK, I needed SURGERY.”
He was an amazing dad when I had post-partum anxiety and depression. And he’d never been around babies before or even had siblings. He was just a natural. He never resented me and just took care of us. When Prozac made it way worse, my horrible doctor then wouldn’t return my calls. So he got us all dressed and we went and sat in that doctor’s office until he would see us.
He was my biggest advocate. It was so hard on me to see him bonding with our baby and being an awesome dad while I couldn’t muster any feelings for the baby and just wanted to disappear. But all is good now, and I am still so happy that our daughter has such a wonderful dad.
We’d been married about 10 years, with two little kids, and our jobs weren’t paying enough to cover daycare and bills. Basically, stresses were just building and building until they reached a fever pitch, and we ended up having our most enormous fight ever. It was a nasty one, and we weren’t holding back at all. That's when phone rang with some utterly heartbreaking news.
My dad was in the hospital 1,200 miles away. He'd had a stroke, and the doctors were unsure whether he'd live. The fight stopped, and she told me to get in the car and go to the airport and said she'd have tickets waiting for me at the counter. She also said she’d call my boss and explain that I was flying across the country. She told me to take the time I needed and promised she would take care of the house and the kids.
She said not to worry about anything but taking care of my family. Dad made it a few years after that, but now I know that no matter how hard life gets, and however much two volatile pig-headed jerks fight and yell, she isn't just on my team, she IS my team. We'll be married 30 years this year. Life happens, and sometimes people aren't perfect, but when the world is against me, that woman will grab my arm and we'll go together.
I had an ingrown hair cyst surgically removed from my butt crack. My S.O. had to help me stuff new gauze in the 1.5-inch hole in my flesh so it could heal properly. I bent over the bed while she removed the gauze used during surgery and she did her best. I ended up having to pull it out myself in the bathroom, leaving blood all over the floor and myself.
Even after the trauma of trying to remove the first gauze, she came back to help me get the new gauze in place after I cleaned up.
We were actually on a romantic getaway weekend in the mountains. I was still breastfeeding at the time. Right as we were getting ready for dinner, I had to break it to him that I had a plugged duct and it was threatening to ruin our whole night, if not the whole weekend. I was very uncomfortable and I was worried about getting mastitis.
My man went to town on that thing and sucked the plug out. I can’t describe how awkward it is to breastfeed your own husband. But he had absolutely no qualms about helping me out.
My wife passes out. A lot. It has to do with a medical condition she has, but it can happen at almost anytime. I’ve become so good at recognizing how she feels that I know when she’s going to go before she does, and I’ve gotten very good at catching her. It may look unromantic, and it can be. But her knowing I’m there, and me recognizing her signs, are a big thing for us.
My boyfriend texted me one day when he was at the gym, saying that he believed his colon had prolapsed. No idea how, but I started googling what we needed to do about it. I read that if it wasn't serious, you could just push it back in before going to a doctor, instead of heading straight into the ER and waiting all night. So what do I do?
Put on a pair of gloves, lube my finger up, and kneel in front of him while he's lying on the bed attempting to push part of it back in. Turns out, that wasn’t the problem. It was worse than that. It was a giant hemorrhoid, as he found out when he went to the doctor’s office the next day. Even so, I think that was a moment in our relationship where it was established that we both had complete comfort with each other.
If your partner can try and shove part of your butt back up there, then nothing is really too disgusting or gross to discuss.
My wife was so, so sick. Like, could barely stand sick. She crawled to the toilet and was rolling and groaning from stomach pain. She's never been able to make herself vomit on command. I got her over the toilet, had her take a few deep breaths, and jammed my fingers down her throat—with warning and permission. She demon spewed all over my hand and the toilet.
Pretty chunky and sticky, but she felt so much better.
Definitely pranking each other thoroughly. I spent a little more than a year randomly sending him emails from a man named "Nolan." He works in customer service and I made the most ridiculous case for him to solve involving a balloon business. Once in a while, during a slow time at my job, good old Nolan would email him.
The last message was about Nolan asking my husband to join him in a doomsday bunker...I finally decided to tell him the truth on our anniversary, which is on April 1. He got me back this Christmas. He anonymously sent me a super low-rent Chevy Chase coloring book. I greatly dislike Chevy Chase, to put it mildly, but I thought it was from my friends.
He enjoyed me plotting revenge against my friends and even egged me on. He finally admitted the truth on New Year's Eve. I plan to retaliate in the near future.
I'm prone to developing cysts. Mostly they just hang out and sometimes go away on their own, but every once in a while one will get infected randomly. I had one such cyst on the back of my neck a few years ago. It was so, so painful, and I was in agony. One day, it just burst open on its own. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say, it was really disgusting.
My husband is very squeamish about these kinds of things. But without hesitation, he very lovingly made sure that all of the infectious material was purged, cleaned out the crater it left in its wake and put antibiotic cream on it. He religiously checked and cleaned the wound twice a day until it healed, and would put clean bandages on it as needed.
I don't even mind the scar it left, because it reminds me of his TLC, even though I'm 100% sure it grossed him out.
I have a now 12-year-old daughter who is not biologically his, however, she calls him Dad now and he always refers to her as his daughter. When she was about 10, he’d been moved in about six months and we were settling into things as a family. I was working and they were home hanging out when she got her first period. I had briefly had a couple of small discussions, but she was still pretty unsure what to do. His response was heartbreaking.
So he handed her some toilet paper, told her the basic girl trick of putting it in her underwear, and took her to the store. He helped her pick out some pads, detoured to the ice cream, chocolate, chips and bakery section, and picked up junior Advil just in case. They settled in on the sofa and he explained the basics of how to use it. Showed her a quick YouTube video.
He also made up a hot water bottle for her, popped her dirty clothes in the washing machine to soak. And they snuggled and she talked about it and they googled answers if he didn’t have them. I came home to them having a nap on the sofa, looking like a slumber party exploded. Probably one of the moments I’ve loved him the most.
I had a severe attack of gastroenteritis. It was coming out of both ends. So, I'm lying in bed and I suddenly have to vomit and I try to run to the bathroom. I fail and proceed to vomit AND poop all over the floor. He cleans me, the floor, and the bathroom up. Tucks me back into bed with some water, gives me a kiss and strokes my greasy and tangled head till I fall asleep.
Most unromantic scenario ever, but he was there to help me get through it despite how gross it was. When I tried to apologize for him having to do all that, he only said, "It's fine sweetie. I love you and I know if the roles were reversed, you'd do the same.” And I would, too.
When I was in labor with our third baby, I was constipated. Like soooo bad. The nurses were wanting to check me and make sure the baby wasn’t crowning. I knew it was legitimately just needing to poop, as it wasn’t my first rodeo, obviously. The nurse told me I could go on the condition that my husband had to accompany me in case the baby really did try to make an appearance.
My poor husband sat in the hospital bathroom with me while I pooped and held my hand through contractions as I went. I felt closer to him after that than I ever had before. It was an unbelievably intense 15 minutes and I’ve never been so vulnerable in front of him. We look back now and laugh about it. Married for almost seven years, and my potty time didn’t scare him off.
I had too much to drink one night and puked shortly after arriving home with my boyfriend. I didn't make it to the toilet in time, so I puked in the hallway. My boyfriend cleaned it up while I continued puking in the toilet. Undressed me, filled the bath up with like two inches of warm water, and helped me lay down in the bathtub.
Then he washed my hair since it had vomit in it. The whole time, I'm crying and apologizing and he just continues to take care of me. Then he said he was going to go get me clean clothes and in my delirious state, I sobbed, "Don't leave me, I'm going to drown!" So he dried me off, carried me to our bedroom, dressed me. Then he got me water and crackers.
During her first pregnancy, my wife vomited brown, congealed blood every night for her entire second trimester. We went to multiple doctors and took a few trips to the ER, never got a reason why. The vomiting happened every night after midnight, sometimes continuing sporadically for eight hours. I don't know why, but it never happened during the daytime.
One night, she thought she was finally doing better, so she went to sleep early and we thought everything seemed fine. We were so, so wrong. Suddenly around 1:00 AM, she jolted awake, which instantly woke me, and tried to run to the bathroom to puke, forgetting the puke bucket on her bedside table in her moment of panic.
Unfortunately, she slipped and fell on her side—nothing hit her belly—and puked blood all over the carpet. She immediately started sobbing. That poor woman went through such a rough time. So I carefully picked her up, took her to the bathroom, held her hair back while she finished throwing up, then cleaned her face and got her some water to rinse her mouth out.
I carried her to bed and then got to work cleaning up the carpet. We were just kids, still in college together. Those three months of misery galvanized our relationship. Nothing serious has ever come between us in the years since.
I’ve been having a tough two weeks, which causes my anxiety to get high, which in turn causes me to become depressive and fold into myself. My amazing husband then recognizes me trying to freeze everything out until I inevitably explode and have a nervous breakdown. The last two weeks he's left me alone, stepped in to help more with the kids, and has been redirecting them so they also leave me alone.
Now that I'm more or less better—the things that were stressing me out are resolving—and did not have a nervous breakdown, I went and cuddled with him last night and thanked him for giving me space because he knew I really needed it.
June of 2017, I had an accident that resulted in my left index finger being amputated at the first knuckle, and limited use of my left thumb. It was a hard time for me, and for my girlfriend. I was unemployed for four months, I had just bought a brand-new car, and we had just brought home a new kitten the week before as well. When it happened, she worked through her anxiety and depression to be my rock in my time of need.
She helped me more than I will ever be able to thank her for. And she still does. I'm reminded constantly of the struggles we went through, and I'm thankful for the amount she's done for me, even if she doesn't realize just how much she did. If she finds this, I love you, Toni.
I have bipolar disorder and have had two episodes of psychotic mania. Each time, my boyfriend has dealt with them like a champ. Not just enduring them, but getting me safely to the hospital and being totally understanding and loving about it. I think that would really scare a lot of people, if not make them jump ship entirely.
I think it's a sign of my great trust in him that in the midst of being out of my mind with grandiose delusions, paranoia, etc., I heard him say "Honey, we have to go to the hospital now," I believed him and went along with it.
Our first child was eight weeks premature because I got preeclampsia and needed an emergency C-section. I was super messed up from all the medication. When I was finally able to get out of bed and shower, he helped my crying, hormonal, leaking body sit in the shower chair and take a much needed cleanse, helped dry me off, and put on clean pajamas and those rhino-sized pads for all the goo.
Then he put me back into my wheelchair, where I promptly threw up all the stuff that had been pumped into me over the 24 hours after my surgery. He turned me around, wheeled me back in, and started over without even a sigh. But the weirdest part was yet to come. Turns out, he loves that story and peacocks around whenever I tell it. He even brags about trying to catch my vomit in his hands.
We had just moved in together in 2015. That summer some weird tummy bug was going around and I got it. We were watching a movie when unexpectedly my stomach just gave one big churn and before I could get up to run to the bathroom, I puked and pooped myself at the same time. I was utterly mortified at this turn of events.
My stomach cramps were so unbearable that I could hardly lift my head up, but he carried me in all my mess, helped me to shower, cleaned up my disgusting mess and nursed me back to health. Every time I needed to go to the bathroom, he'd carry me, rub my back, hold out the bucket, etc. To him it was normal and he knows I'd do the same for him.
The first time my girlfriend ever spent the night, she confessed that she had to pass gas. What she released was by far the vilest, noxious odor I have ever encountered. We laid there laughing at how bad her gas was for about 10 minutes. Nothing else could possibly be awkward between us after that, so it was a surprisingly romantic moment.
I recently had a second heart catheterization to check my heart for blockages—thankfully, there were none. Unfortunately, this time they needed to go through my femoral artery in my groin and I needed to remain on bed-rest for about four hours after the procedure. I had not eaten all day in preparation for the surgery, so when I got out I was famished.
The nurse brought me a hospital dinner, but I couldn’t sit upright to feed myself. My lovely wife of ten years, who has been a solid rock for me through this ordeal, was excited at the opportunity to feed me. I'm only 32 years old, so being in this predicament and being unable to feed myself was rather humbling. She happily cut my roast beef and potatoes and fed me a bite at a time.
You could just tell that she loved being able to serve me in this way. It was not in any way a burden, or a chore, or a nuisance. She didn't take advantage of the situation to make a humiliating "here comes the airplane" joke. She just carefully fed me and saw to my needs. I know in her heart she had felt rather useless because all my fear and anxiety was pent up inside.
She loved having some way to show that she was there for me in a weak and frankly scary moment of my life. She is much better than I deserve and I am so crazy in love with her.
Four months into dating my husband, who was my boyfriend at the time, obviously, and he had to take me to my colonoscopy. I didn’t have any family in town and it just made sense for him to take me. Afterward, I laid in his bed while he tried to convince me to pass gas so I wouldn’t be in pain. Then he took it up a notch. He actually started passing gas to try to make me feel better and not as embarrassed.
A few hours after resting, I had to go to the gynecologist to get my IUD in. So then he had to take care of me all day from being sore in my nether regions. To top it off, it was his birthday. It was the single most selfless thing anyone has ever done for me.
I was having a panic attack and he was in the bathroom. He called me in there because he could hear me sobbing uncontrollably. I went in—thinking he was brushing his teeth—and the man pulled me down onto his lap while he was pooping and held me while I was sobbing uncontrollably/hyperventilating/laughing the absurdity. We are now engaged.
I scratched an itch on my foot using his heel callus. He looked at me, asked if I really just did that, then we cackled until we had tears streaming down our faces. Love, man.
We were grinding with clothes on in bed, running hands all over each other. I put my hand over her throat, which triggered a panic attack for reasons. I, in turn, panicked a little and did the only thing I could think to do—the very thing I had been desperately clenching my butt cheeks to try not to do. So I blurted out "DISTRACTION" and passed gas.
She stopped having a panic attack and instead fell off the bed laughing. That was five years ago, we've been married a little over three now.
My then-girlfriend and I went to visit my parents about 90 miles from home after eating Christmas dinner at her parents, so we could go to see a play with the whole family the next day. We got to my parents’ home okay and started getting ready for bed. Then I felt something in my gut that made my blood run cold.
I vomited once or twice in the toilet and then started the nonstop diarrhea. I sat there pooping like the world was ending while vomiting into a trash can. My girlfriend did her best to take care of me when it hit her too. Luckily, I had stopped and so she took her turn evacuating out of both ends. All while I waited for the next wave to come.
There was only one toilet we could use. After taking turns back and forth a couple times, we both realized this wasn’t going to end any time soon and there was going to come a time when we would both have to poop at the same time and honestly neither of us had the strength to hold it back for more than the time it took to make it to the toilet from the bed.
I remember looking at her as we both laid in bed wracked in pain while it felt like something was trying to claw its way out of our bodies. I told her if the time came when we both had to go at the same time, I would squat next to her in the bathtub and poop there so she could have the toilet. She told me she loved me and we managed to survive the most horrible night I have ever experienced together. We are now married.
My girlfriend once threw up all over me while we were having intimate relations. Apparently, she wasn't feeling well, but she still wanted to do the deed. While she was on top of me, she got really queasy and then puked on my chest. I was so shocked, I didn’t know how to react and struggled to not puke myself out of pure reflex.
She was so embarrassed and immediately got off, tossed on a robe, and ran to the bathroom. I cleaned myself off and went after her to check if she was okay. Although she felt physically better after puking, emotionally she was so embarrassed and it took me some time to convince her I still loved her and found her attractive after that.
The thing is, I was more worried about her than disgusted about being puked on, and that is love.
I suffer from severe depression. So one time I fell back into one of my episodes and was sitting, crying on our bed. My husband saw me, grabbed my hands, pulled me up to stand, and started slow dancing with me. There was no music, no TV. Just us dancing. He kissed me several times and just kept giving me the biggest grin. I couldn’t help but smile through my tears.
My mom was having some money problems and other family stuff hanging over her head. Basically, she was really down and we went over for a quick visit, also so she could cut my girlfriend’s hair. Well, she was talking about her vacuum cleaner that broke down and how bothersome that is, but also mentioned that right now she needs that money for other things.
Girlfriend and I look at each other in the eye for half a second and just nod at each other. Ordered a vacuum cleaner off Amazon with my phone, made mom so happy when we brought it over that she cried. That nonverbal communication moment was just more proof of how good we fit together and how much we love and trust each other.
My partner and I went on a trip together in 2017 that ended in Washington, DC. It was an absolute nightmare. On the last day of our vacation, he got food poisoning, but we didn't realize it until after we'd walked the two miles from the train back to the hotel. At that point, I was limping on some pretty bad blisters and just wanted to sit down and elevate my feet.
He sat down on the bed to rest and immediately fell asleep before he could even get his shoes off. It was then I noticed that he had a really high fever. For a little while, I tried to just keep a cold cloth on his face and make him drink water, but his fever got so high that he started to hallucinate and at one point he wasn't sure who I was.
The ice machine was broken and the manager of the hotel wouldn't help me at all, but the security guard on duty offered to keep an eye on our room to make sure that my partner didn't wander off if I went to go buy some ice and medicine. So I put my shoes back on and limped down the hill back toward the nearest pharmacy.
I recall thinking to myself at that moment "Man, I must really love this guy. If it was just me, I'd just suffer." Thankfully, I found a little tapas place I hadn't previously noticed on the way there and they were able to give me some ice. When I took my shoes off, my feet were bleeding. I spent all night nursing my partner through the worst case of food poisoning I've ever seen and managed to get us to the airport on time the next day.
It was pretty par for the course for that trip—it was our worst vacation ever and we're pretty sure we should just never go back to DC—but at least it's memorable!
I didn’t have a job when we were first dating, and he knew I was embarrassed that he had to pay my way for everything we did together. So he came up with the most ingenious, heartwarming plan. If we were meeting other people, he would hand me cash before we got out of the car so I could pretend I was paying for myself.
We respected each other enough to take a break that lasted a year and a half. We had been together for eight years and were having a really rough patch and didn’t want to be together, but didn’t want to be apart, either. We still thought we should end up together, but during that time we didn’t deserve each other and it was toxic.
I moved out of our place, but not super far away. At first, we agreed to only talk once a week, unless an important circumstance came up. We both went on one or two extremely failed dates. After a few months, we started flirting and laughing together again. Within six months, we were back sleeping together on occasion.
Within a year, we were secretly dating because we didn’t want family or friends to have any influence on what was going on. That time for ourselves allowed for personal growth that was 100% necessary in order for us to grow together. Full disclosure, I was not on board with this in the beginning. I never gave up on us. I was willing to wait for an eternity.
Within a year of being back together, we got pregnant and married, and this year we will celebrate all 15 years “together.”
Mine was picking her up at the airport and failing. It was raining like crazy and I got stuck in traffic and realized I'd be late. I was surprising her, so she didn't even know I was going to be there, and I'd already driven for an hour and a half, so I texted her while driving, telling her to wait. I just constantly kept thinking about how the whole plan had blown up in my face.
Instead of a sweet thing, now I was going to make her wait for no reason. Weirdly enough, conditions weren't ideal for landing or whatever and so her flight kept circling the airport—which I had no idea about because her phone was obviously off. When I finally got there, she still hadn't landed! I ended up waiting for another half an hour before her flight landed.
It was totally worth it when she walked out the gate, though. Not what I'd planned, but awesome.
We got married recently, and it wasn’t exactly a super traditional groom-doesn’t-see-bride-until-wedding style event. So my husband and I got ready at my parents’ house early in the morning and were just going to drive over to the venue together. However, right before leaving and after I’d already got my dress on, I felt the rumblings of an “excitement-poop.”
I didn’t really have time to take the dress off and then put it back on AND make it to the wedding on time. So we proposed a plan: We crammed into this little bathroom like sardines—for some reason the smallest one in the house?? There were definitely other bathrooms available. He held the dress securely over my head while I had the worst explosive diarrhea of my life.
He then proceeded to hand me toilet paper when the time came. He took it like a champ too, telling me it was okay when I apologized. I already knew he was my soul mate, but this situation definitely secured it 100% for me.
I had pneumonia that went undiagnosed a week later than it should have because of my old healthcare professionals. So when I finally started taking medication, I was in pretty bad condition. My partner stayed over at my house the entire time I was sick and woke me up to drink water/eat meals that he cooked and brought to my room.
Midway through finishing my two different antibiotics, I started getting really bad diarrhea. One afternoon I ran to the bathroom from my bedroom and pooped with the door open because I couldn't wait. It was uncontrollable for about 10 minutes, and he heard/smelled everything from the living room. I just heard him laughing the entire time and saying "Jesus Christ!”
He then helped me to my room, gave me water, and tucked me in. That's when I knew he was the one!
One time, I was taking a poop and feeling very faint. I started getting cold sweats, feeling dizzy and light headed. In a panic, I shouted for my wife to come help me. As she entered the room, I proceeded to faint. I fell off the toilet and rolled my body onto my side to prevent injury. Mid-fall, a solid log torpedoed out of my butt across the floor—leaving a trail of poop smear. When I came to, my wife was standing there in shock. I got up, grabbed some toilet paper, picked up my shame, and we never spoke of it again.
I'd been drinking one night and wet the bed...her bed. With her in it. I spent an hour wide awake and mortified, as we hadn't been living together for very long at that point and I had no idea how to handle it. I eventually woke her up and shamefully told her what happened. Without ridicule or anger, she got up, helped me get the sheets in the wash, and took a shower with me.
It's been three years since that day, and she hasn't once used that event as harmful ammo in an argument, or even mentioned it at all except as private playful banter once or twice. I understood then that she respected that embarrassing things happen to everyone and that I could always count on her to have my back, and to always keep our secrets.
My mom never told me how her best friend died. Years later, I was using her phone when I made an utterly chilling discovery.
Madame de Pompadour was the alluring chief mistress of King Louis XV, but few people know her dark history—or the chilling secret shared by her and Louis.
I tried to get my ex-wife served with divorce papers. I knew that she was going to take it badly, but I had no idea about the insane lengths she would go to just to get revenge and mess with my life.
Catherine of Aragon is now infamous as King Henry VIII’s rejected queen—but few people know her even darker history.
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