At his parents’ house, the smell of food hit me so hard my stomach growled out loud. Roast beef, potatoes, garlic bread, something cheesy bubbling in the oven. I took salad and a little meat. No bread. No potatoes. I could feel Jake watching, approving.
Then Linda stood up with the cake knife.
“Who wants cake?”
My heart started racing. Just one slice. I was breastfeeding. I needed it. I pushed my plate forward.
Jake spoke before she could serve me.
“No, babe. That’s enough for you. You don’t need cake. Let’s not undo all your progress, okay?”
The room froze.
Heat flooded my face. I felt every eye on my body, my plate, my shame. I expected Linda to laugh it off. Or agree.
Instead, she set the knife down and stood.
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