004

MIA

The kitchen still smelled like roasted chicken and garlic when we sat down. Ryan had insisted on a “proper family dinner” the moment Jake texted that he was free. I set the last dish on the table and took the chair across from my husband. Jake sat to my right, close enough that I could catch the faint scent of his soap every time he moved.

Ryan poured himself a glass of water and looked at me over the rim.

“So,” he said, “how was the gym?”

I kept my eyes on my plate. “Harder than I expected.”

He let out a short laugh. “Harder? You’ve only been twice. What exactly is hard about walking on a treadmill?”

“It’s not just walking,” I said. “There’s form and weights and—”

“And excuses.” Ryan cut a piece of chicken with more force than necessary. “I knew you’d start complaining the second it got uncomfortable.”

Jake stayed quiet. He took a slow sip of water and watched the exchange like it was nothing new.

I tried again. “I’m not complaining. I’m just saying it’s more than I thought.”

Ryan set his fork down. “Mia, look at yourself. You need more than ‘a little effort.’ You need someone who won’t let you quit the moment you sweat. That’s why I asked Jake.”

My face burned. I glanced at Jake, hoping he would stay out of it. He didn’t look away.

Ryan kept going. “Jake, I need you to fix her properly. No soft sessions. No letting her hide in that private room forever. I want visible results in a month. Smaller waist, less of… all of this.” He waved a hand in my direction like my body was a problem on the table.

The words landed heavy. I felt every soft inch of myself under the thin blouse I wore. My hands tightened around the napkin in my lap.

“A month?” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “Are you crazy? That’s impossible and you know it.”

Ryan’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t just demand a completely different body in four weeks,” I said. “People don’t work like that. I don’t work like that.”

“People who actually try do,” he shot back. “People who stop making excuses and start listening.”

Jake finally spoke. His voice was calm, almost lazy.

“It’s doable.”

I turned toward him so fast my chair scraped. He was looking straight at me, not at Ryan. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, unreadable smile. It wasn’t kind and it wasn’t mocking. It sat somewhere in between and made my stomach tighten in a way I didn’t like.

“What?” I asked.

“I said it’s doable.” Jake set his glass down. “If she shows up and does what I tell her, a month is enough to see clear changes. Not a miracle. Just progress she can’t hide from.”

Ryan pointed his fork at Jake like he had just won something. “See? Even he agrees. No more soft talk. You listen to him from now on.”

I stared at Jake. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” His eyes stayed on mine. “You already started. Quitting now would be a waste.”

The way he said it felt heavier than the words. Like he was talking about more than the gym. Heat crawled up my neck. I looked down at my plate again, suddenly not hungry.

Ryan leaned back, satisfied. “Good. Then it’s settled. One month. I want to see results when I look at my wife.”

Jake didn’t answer him. He just kept that small smile and reached for the salad bowl like nothing had shifted in the air between us.

I pushed a piece of chicken around my plate. The conversation moved on—Ryan talking about work, Jake giving short replies—but I barely heard it. My mind kept looping back to that smile and the quiet certainty in Jake’s voice.

It’s doable.

He had looked at me when he said it. Not at my husband. At me.

Later, when Ryan stood to clear the plates, Jake stayed seated a moment longer. His knee brushed mine under the table. It could have been an accident. It didn’t feel like one.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I nodded once, still not meeting his eyes.

“Good.” He stood, collected his glass, and followed Ryan into the kitchen.

I sat alone at the table, staring at the empty space where he had been. My stomach still felt tight. The smile he gave me refused to leave my head. It wasn’t the smile of a helpful brother-in-law. It was something quieter. Something that made me feel seen in a way Ryan’s words never did.

And that scared me more than the impossible deadline my husband had just set.