I Can't Eat, so He Feeds Someone Else
In the third year of my eating disorder, my husband, Nikolai Hollowell, is the only person who still insists on making me eat.
Even when I vomit until I'm a trembling mess, he will make another dish for me again half an hour later.
He coaxes gently yet stubbornly, "Have one more bite of the apple slice, Emi."
But the moment I smell the food, I throw up again until I can barely breathe.
That night, I make another post on X to ask for help.
"How is someone with an eating disorder supposed to keep living?"
The top comment says, "Get a boyfriend who's a chef! My darling cooks different dishes for me every single day, all 365 days without repeating once. Even the apple slices he cuts are shaped like cute little bunnies, so I absolutely love eating now."
Someone replies enviously, "Wow! Where do you find a man like that?"
She answers, "Find one? Good men like that no longer circulate on the market. He is actually married. His wife has had anorexia for three years. She has become only skin and bones.
"He says just looking at her kills his appetite, and he does not even want to touch her. Well, I'm nothing like her. I always finish every dish he makes."
My breathing catches in my throat.
This morning, Nikolai personally made bunny-shaped apple slices for me.
My fingertips turn cold as I tap into the woman's profile.
Her caption reads, "Wow! If your wife won't eat bunny-shaped apple slices, then I will!"
Attached is a photo of a man's long, elegant fingers holding an apple slice up to the woman's mouth.
And the one reflected in her starry eyes after zooming in—is a face identical to Nikolai's.