I locked myself in the bathroom and cried with the fan on so he wouldn’t hear.
A few weeks later, he came home carrying a grocery bag, smiling like he’d done something thoughtful.
“Got you something.”
He dumped it on the counter.
Cucumbers. Just cucumbers.
“These and water should be your best friends now,” he said. “You want to fit through doors again, right?”
I laughed because it sounded absurd. Because if I didn’t laugh, I’d scream.
“I’m breastfeeding,” I said. “I’m starving all the time.”
“Or your body’s just used to overeating,” he replied. “You don’t want to stay like this, do you?”
Something in me folded. I was tired. Raw. Empty. It felt easier to obey than to argue.
So I did.
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