CHAPTER TWO

LUCY’S POV

After Blair finally left, Tom hugged me from behind.

His arms wrapped around my waist, the waist that used to be slender, but now, it was soft and wide beneath the folds of my cotton dress. He rested his chin on my shoulder like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just stood there being handed a sunhat meant for someone’s great-aunt.

“You’re quiet. What’s wrong?” he asked.

I sighed. I slowly looked at him. 

“Do you still love me?” I asked him frankly.

He was shocked. “What?”

“I mean... I know I’m not what I used to be.” My voice cracked. 

“I’ve gotten fat, Tom. I don’t dress like Blair. I don’t laugh like her. I don’t move like her.” I looked down.

He didn’t answer immediately. My heart paused. What was I expecting? Then he turned me around gently, looking me straight in the eyes.

“Lucy,” he said softly.

“You’re the girl I lovingly made fat.”

I let out a surprised laugh, but it died halfway through.

“I mean it.” he said with a smile. 

“You’re still the same woman I fell for. Maybe you just got rounder and softer, but you’re still mine. I love you, no matter how you look. Okay?” he cupped my face.

My heart rejoiced. I wanted to believe him. But something inside me had shifted. My silence lingered a little too long. Tom sighed and pulled out his phone. I watched him and he began tapping something.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m canceling the trip. If this is how you feel, then we’re not going.” he said.

I was surprised. Can he do that for me? I smiled, but my smile faded away when Noah shouted.

“No! I want to go! Don’t cancel, Dad, please!” He was already crying.

My heart suddenly broke. I hate seeing him cry.

“Tom, stop.” I said quickly and grabbed his hand. 

“Please don’t. Noah’s been looking forward to this. I’ll be fine. I’m just being emotional.” I softly said.

Tom hesitated. But then, he slowly put his phone inside his pocket. I forced a smile and hugged Noah as tightly as I could. But inside, my heart was wrapped in barbed wire.

A few days later, I sat in our bedroom and packed. Not until I noticed something. I pulled out the photo album from the bottom drawer. I wiped the dust and slowly flipped it open, and there we were. Tom and I on our wedding day.

He in his white shirt splattered with blue paint. Me in my simple gown. I’m wearing the simple necklace Tom saved up for. But I smiled anyway, because this was the life I chose even without my parents.

Back then, everyone thought I was crazy. Giving it all up to marry a struggling painter with no future. But I had been tired of having my life mapped out for me. The galas, the arranged suitor dinners, and the suffocating legacy. I wanted something real. I found it in Tom’s stained hands and crooked grin. He was my world, even though it wasn't spontaneous, but artistic and importantly free.

I cut ties with the Whitmores for him, and started over as a pastry chef in a humble Western café. I traded cocktail dresses for aprons. I worked double shifts to help pay for rent when he couldn’t sell a painting. And I never once looked back.

But somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I got fat. Tom’s cooking was divine and seductive. I couldn’t resist and kept gaining weight. At first, I laughed it off saying it was love weight or I’d lose it. But every attempt ended in tears and tighter pants.

Then came the diagnosis, Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.

I still remembered how the doctor looked at me when she said, “You may never be able to carry children.”

I’d expected Tom to be angry and devastated. But instead, he’d just shrugged and held my hand.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”

He never blamed me and I was thankful for that. 

I flipped to the next photo. It was Noah’s photo.

Two years ago, Tom came home holding a small boy’s dirty hand.

“I found him near the park. He’s alone and shivering.” he said.

No police report. No record. It was like the boy didn’t exist. But something in Tom couldn’t let him go. We took Noah in and got him checked. He’s asthmatic, fragile, but sweet. Months later, we adopted him. I became a mother, and it was the best feeling ever. But sometimes he felt closer to Tom and Blair than me. That thought made my stomach twist.

Suddenly, my alarm buzzed.

I snapped out of my thoughts. I wiped my tears and grabbed my purse. It was my day off and I promised to pick Noah up from school.

The sun was warm and sticky as I walked through the school gates. I passed a group of little girls chatting near the entrance.

"Noah's mommy is soooo pretty!" one girl giggled.

"I know, right? I wish I had her shiny long hair too!"

Their voices trailed behind me like whispers I wasn’t meant to hear. Pretty? Shiny, long hair? I glanced down at my sweat-stained blouse, the roll of flesh at my waist, the frizzy hair stuck to my neck.

They couldn’t be talking about me.

When the school doors opened, the kids came pouring out, I spotted Noah. I lifted my hand.

“Noah! Over here!”

But he didn’t look at me. He ran past me and straight into Blair’s arms. I stood shocked and frozen. Blair stood by the gate, flawless in white.

“Mom!” Noah shouted.

She kissed his head. He held her hand like she was everything. I couldn’t move.