My friend Emily is an incredible cook. Divine, absolutely mouthwatering—she can turn a simple courgette and potato into something extraordinary! And her baking! The way she roasts meat to perfection—I’m telling you, it’s unreal!
But that’s not the point.
Emily carries some extra weight. Quite a bit, actually, but she’s truly lovely—smooth-cheeked, rosy as a ripe apple, full of energy, no shortness of breath, no health issues. She’s been married to her husband, Simon, for fifteen years. And for all fifteen of those years, Simon has taken vicious, gleeful pleasure in mocking her weight. Always inventive, always cruel. In front of friends. In front of strangers. He’d come up with what he thought were affectionate nicknames—*my little heifer*, *my hippo*. *Oof, she stepped on my foot, now my leg’s shattered!*
He’d gush over fitness influencers or anyone lucky enough to have good genetics. I got a few of those backhanded compliments myself and, foolishly, leapt to Emily’s defence, rambling about metabolism and genetics—pointless.
Emily always kept her composure, even smiled at his jokes. She’d poke fun at herself too. But after their daughter Lily was born, things got worse. Lily inherited her mother’s apple-shaped figure, and as she hit puberty, Simon turned his attention to her: *Why are you eating so much? You’ll end up like your mother! Look at yourself—don’t you want to be pretty, not some shapeless lump?*
That’s when Emily finally woke up. She talked to him once, twice, three times—*this isn’t right, you can’t speak to her like that*—but of course, it went nowhere. Then, about a year ago, something snapped. I wasn’t there, but I heard the story. Simon was at it again, cracking jokes about his wife’s figure in front of company, when Emily suddenly said, *Simon, you know what? I’ve had enough. If you don’t like the way I look, the door’s right there. Go find yourself a skinny one—I’m done.*
She called a cab and left. Simon just rolled his eyes, kept laughing. *Where’s she gonna go?* he said. *She’ll cool off. She knows she looks like an overripe tomato.* Even his mates tried to tell him he was out of line, that Emily was gorgeous—but no luck.
When he got home, Emily was gone. So was Lily. Turned out they’d packed their things and moved in with Emily’s parents—they had a house across town. A bit of a trek to school, but manageable. The second blow came when Emily filed for divorce. Simon was floored: *What, over a few jokes? No way! She must be seeing someone else!* Then again—*who’d want a woman that big?*
You can probably guess. There was no other man. Emily was just done. She had a good job at a big firm, a solid salary, and with some help from her parents, she didn’t even wait for the marital home to be split—she just bought a nice two-bed flat in a new development for her and Lily.
After the assets were divided, Simon was left with a one-bed. Had to sell the car, split the money. He’s stuck paying child support for another three years, and with his small salary, losing a quarter of it leaves him scraping by. The worst part? He tells his mates his ex was a real piece of work—after fifteen years of her cooking, he’s stuck with ready meals or dinners at his mum’s. *Her roast chicken haunts my dreams*, he says. *Her pies! Rows and rows of pies with all kinds of fillings!* He wakes up in tears.
*Find another woman?* he grumbles. *Tried that. Cooks like rubbish. Yeah, she’s slim, but at our age, they’re hardly supermodels. Why not a younger one?* *Eh, didn’t work out—salary’s too small, and let’s be honest, I’m no Adonis. Got a gut, bald spot, out of breath. Midlife crisis, innit?*
The real kicker? Emily lost weight. Not drastically, but enough—dropped a couple of sizes. Mutual friends say she cooks differently now—still delicious, but more veg-focused. She and Lily were never big on meat anyway. All those sweet pies? That was Simon’s thing.
A little while back, he ran into her at the supermarket—said he was speechless. Went up to her: *You know, you’re looking all right. Actually, I really fancy you now. Let’s give it another go.*
*How about no?* she replied.
*What d’you mean, no?*
He was furious. *I came to her with an open heart, and she shut me down. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be waddling around like a cow—ungrateful, cold-hearted… woman.*
Joanne Wilkinson.
