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. Everything okay?” 

I couldn’t believe he even had to ask. Did he really think that the way he doted on Blair wouldn’t make me feel insecure?

He was so oblivious, I questioned whether I was just overreacting. Maybe I was.

A question, I just couldn’t shake finally slipped out when I faced him

“Do you still love me?” I suddenly asked.

He stiffened. “What?”

“Tom, I know things aren’t like they used to be.” My voice cracked. 

“How so?” He tried shifting the mood, to pull me in with his smile like he always did, but I wouldn’t budge. Not this time.

“Look at me, Tom! I’m not slim like Blair. I’m fat, and frumpy. I-I don’t move like her, i don’t-I don’t laugh like her. I don’t even dress like her.” I  choked back tears, my insecure gaze unable to meet his.

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 spoke softly, his thumb a tender caress across my cheek. “You’re the girl I lovingly made fat.”

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

“I mean it.” He smiled. 

“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 skipped. I needed to hear those words. And 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. Would he really do that for me? And if so, was it selfish of me to be okay with it? 

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 hated seeing him cry.

“Tom, stop.” I grabbed his hand, immediately changing my mind. “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 packing for a trip I didn’t want. Then 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 was wearing the simple necklace Tom saved up for. It was simple. And yet it was the happiest day of my life.

Back then, everyone thought I was crazy. Giving it all up to marry a struggling painter with no future. But I was so tired of having my life mapped out for me. The galas, the arranged suitor dinners, and the suffocating legacy. I wanted something real. And I found it in Tom’s stained hands and crooked grin. 

He was my world. Not extravagant or overly gallant, but artistic and most 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 and caviar for aprons and donut holes.

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 a bigger pant-size.

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-devastated even. But instead, he’d just shrugged and held my hand.

“Whether we can share a child by flesh or adoption, I’ll still love you.”

Those words meant a lot to me that day. He never made me feel like I was to blame for my body betraying me. And I loved him for that.

Recalling that moment in time, a small smile played at the corner of my lips as I turned the page to see the next photo. It was of Noah, his infectious smile with chocolate plastered across his cheek

It was almost two years to the day since Tom had come home holding the dirty little hand of a cute, blonde haired, brown-eyed boy. 

“Lucy, I couldn’t just leave him there,” he said. “He was near the park. Alone and hungry. I had to help.”

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 I could tell that he gravitated closer to Tom than me. And now Blair. 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!"

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 even 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. But it wasn’t me he was talking to. It was Blair.

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

What just happened?