Amara stood by the window, watching the rain. The drops streamed down the glass, merging into uneven paths that looked like tears. Her own tears had long since dried up over the last six months.
She had cried out everything she had. “You’re still stuffing your face?” Darius’s voice cut through the air from the hallway, sharp and filled with undisguised contempt. Amara flinched, instinctively covering her bowl of oatmeal with her hand.
It was just oatmeal. No butter, no sugar. But even this was too much for her husband.
“It’s just breakfast,” she answered quietly, not turning around. “Breakfast,” Darius mimicked, walking into the kitchen. “Take a look at yourself.
You’ve turned into a cow. I can’t stand touching you.”
The words struck their target precisely. Amara knew she had gained weight.
Five years had passed since Caleb was born, but her body had never returned to what it once was. She had tried. She tried diets, went to the gym, but the stress and constant tension in the family only made things worse.
Every evening she promised herself she would start a new life on Monday. But every Monday brought new disappointments. “I’m trying,” she whispered, feeling everything inside her contract into a painful knot.
“Trying!” Darius scoffed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Twenty years ago when we met, you were gorgeous. Every guy would turn his head.
And now? Now I’m embarrassed to go out in public with you.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d said this. Over the past year, those words had become as habitual as his morning coffee.
Amara remained silent, staring into her bowl. Once, she would have argued, defended herself, but now she had no strength left. Darius finished his coffee and glanced at his watch.
“I have to go. I’ll be late tonight.”
“Another meeting?” Amara asked, even though she already knew the answer. “Yeah,” he threw out curtly and left.
Without even saying goodbye, the door slammed shut and Amara was left alone in the empty apartment. Caleb had gone to overnight camp a week ago, and the house felt especially quiet. She slowly finished the oatmeal, though her appetite was gone.
Then she stood up and looked at her reflection in the hall mirror. A round face, a double chin, wide hips beneath a shapeless housecoat. When had she stopped recognizing herself?
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