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2026-08-21 14:41:47MIA
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.
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My Husband’s Brother, My Filthy Trainer 136
MIA Clara’s heels hit the tile before I could move. She pushed the glass door open with her shoulder, bag on one arm, phone still in her hand. The clinic was half-dark. Jake was still at the desk. I was still behind it. For a second nobody spoke. Clara looked at him. Then at me. Then at the empty waiting room. “You’re both still here,” she said. “Closing up,” I said too fast. “Charts. The system glitched on the last two.” Jake didn’t help. He just stood there with his hands off the counter now, like that fixed anything. Clara set her bag down on a chair. “I thought you left an hour ago.” “I did,” Jake said. “Came back.” “For what?” I answered before he could. “Insurance question. One of the afternoon patients. I texted him because I couldn’t reach the file.” It was thin. Clara’s eyes said she knew it was thin. She didn’t call it a lie. She only smiled the careful smile she used with difficult patients. “Well. You’re both upright. That’s something.” She glanced at the dark
My Husband’s Brother, My Filthy Trainer 135
MIA The clinic lights were already dimmed, only the hallway lamp glowing soft and low. I’d filed the last patient chart, locked the medicine cabinet exactly the way Clara had shown me, straightened the magazines on the coffee table until they were perfectly aligned. The waiting room was empty. The only sound left was the low hum of the staff fridge down the hall. My shift had ended an hour ago. My room was twenty steps away — a bed, a door that locked, silence. I could have gone there. Instead I sat at the front desk, clicking through empty screens, closing windows I’d already closed, because busy hands felt safer than lying awake in that quiet room. The bell above the door chimed. I looked up. My heart gave a sharp, painful lurch. Jake. He didn’t step all the way inside. Didn’t glance down the hall toward where I slept. He stopped right at the counter, hands in his jacket pockets, like he was just another patient who’d arrived after hours. His hair was damp at the edges,
My Husband’s Brother, My Filthy Trainer 134
MIA The front desk phone rang once and cut off before I could reach it, the sound sharp and too loud in the quiet space. I sat back, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and breathed slow through the tightness in my chest. I was still learning the system — appointment codes, insurance fields, which boxes were mandatory and which ones could wait. Clara had walked me through it twice, patient and steady, but my hands moved slower than the cursor, my brain stalling on every new screen. The small room down the hall was mine, though — clean, bright, no one breathing down my neck — and for a few hours that morning, I’d let myself believe this might actually work. That I could build something small and safe. Then the bell above the door chimed. A woman stepped up to the counter. I looked up. My blood turned cold. Lena. She stood there like she owned the place — dress soft and tailored, falling exactly right over her stomach, hair sleek and perfect, that same smile landing the second
My Husband’s Brother, My Filthy Trainer 133
JAKE I parked out front, cut the engine, and sat there a minute, hands resting loose on the wheel. Tuesday. I’d said I would come. Mia had told me to stay away, and I’d heard her — loud and clear, sharp and final — but hearing her wasn’t the same as letting this disappear entirely. It wasn’t the same as pretending I didn’t care whether she was safe or not. Clara opened the door before I knocked, bright and ready, like she’d been watching from the window. “You’re on time,” she said, stepping back to let me in. “I like that.” “I said I would be.” The spare room down the hall had been cleared out completely — furniture pushed to the walls, a fresh yoga mat laid out in the center, two sets of light weights stacked neat beside it, even a full-length mirror dragged in from somewhere else. Mia stood by the window, back mostly to the door, wearing clothes that weren’t hers — Clara’s shorts, a loose soft shirt that still didn’t quite fit right — holding herself small, arms tucked in, shou
My Husband’s Brother, My Filthy Trainer 132
MIA Clara met me at the side door just after dusk, key in one hand, manila folder in the other, like she’d been waiting right there for me. She didn’t smile too wide, didn’t ask where I’d come from or whose car I’d gotten out of — just stepped back and nodded toward the hallway. “Front desk is straight through there,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Your room’s back here — quiet, away from the patients. It’s small. Bathroom’s shared with the staff hall at the end. Don’t use the one by the exam rooms, okay? That’s for patients only.” “That’s fine.” I shifted the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder. “I don’t mind walking.” She didn’t ask about the bag. Didn’t ask why I’d left Jake’s place or how long I’d been sleeping on his couch. Didn’t mention the quiet goodbye or the way I’d looked away when we said see you Tuesday. She just unlocked a narrow door tucked behind a stack of supply boxes and stepped aside so I could go in first. The room was exactly what she’d said — smal
My Husband’s Brother, My Filthy Trainer 131
MIA Clara was still smiling when I nodded, bright and easy, completely unaware the air had just gone thin between us. “Tuesday works,” I said, keeping my voice level, like nothing had just broken. Jake didn’t argue. Didn’t push. Didn’t ask me to take it back. He sat with his hands resting heavy on his knees and let Clara scribble the time down in her little notebook like the room hadn’t just split clean in two. Ice melted slow in the glasses on the table, water beading down the sides. I lifted mine and drank, cold and tasteless, just so I’d have something to do with my hands, something to hide behind. “Late afternoon,” Clara said, pen hovering over the page. “Right after the clinic closes. I’ll text you both the address again, just in case — better safe than lost.” “I have it,” Jake said. Short. Final. “Good.” She turned to me then, warm and open. “And you can come straight from wherever you’re staying, Mia. No need to rush over or anything. We’ll just take it easy.” “Okay.” Th
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