**Journal Entry**
I can’t believe I let it come to this. Fifteen years, and that’s what he says to me?
*“You’ve let yourself go. Gotten too comfortable. I don’t want to look for someone else, I swear—there’s no one else. But I can’t do this anymore. I want to admire the woman I love. And sadly, I don’t admire you anymore.”*
*“You bore me.”*
I blinked fast, trying to keep the tears at bay. After everything—this is how he repays me?
*“So what are you suggesting?”* My voice barely held steady. *“Divorce?”*
He sighed. *“I think it’s the best solution.”*
*“And the children?”*
*“I’ll help. Have them on weekends.”*
*“Just like that?”* I nearly laughed, wiping my eyes. *“You’re bored with your wife, so you’ll toss the kids aside too? Become a weekend dad? Have you no shame?”*
—
I met Jack at a wedding—my cousin’s. He was on the groom’s side, ten years my senior. To me, he was everything: clever, refined, like something out of a fairytale.
*“Honestly, Emma, what makes you think a man like him would settle for you?”* My mother had scoffed at the time. *“Plain looks, no education to speak of. And Jack? He’s going to go far.”*
I used to sulk, turning away so she wouldn’t see my face. It took years to realise how much those words had shaped me—how she’d chipped away at my confidence before I’d even had the chance to build it.
But back then, I didn’t care. I was twenty, head over heels, butterflies in my stomach every time he smiled. We married after six months.
*“He’ll leave you, mark my words,”* Mum warned. *“You’re a seamstress—barely. In my day, that wasn’t even a proper job.”*
*“Thanks for the encouragement,”* I shot back. *“But I’m a grown woman now.”*
For the first few years, life was a whirlwind—weekend trips to the countryside, theatre outings, lazy afternoons just because Jack’s salary covered everything. I sewed for fun, little dresses and skirts, though I never sold them. Then Lily was born, and my world narrowed to her. I adored motherhood—playgroups, ice-skating lessons, homeschooling so I wouldn’t have to send her to nursery. I still made time for runs, kept myself in shape.
*“Lucky bastard,”* Jack’s relatives would tease him at gatherings. *“Beautiful wife, perfect home, a daughter who adores you. When’s the next one coming?”*
Jack would grin. *“Soon.”*
But “soon” wasn’t easy.
*“See?”* Mum crowed during her weekly calls. *“You can’t even give him a son.”*
*“Thanks, Mum. As if I don’t cry enough already.”*
After years of trying, we accepted it—Lily would be our only child. And she thrived, becoming a rising star in figure skating. I poured myself into her training, sewing her costumes myself when I wasn’t shuttling her to competitions. Jack adored her too. He’d beam with pride whenever anyone complimented his *“beautiful wife and talented daughter.”*
Then, miraculously, I fell pregnant. A little boy, Charlie, our miracle. But the pregnancy was brutal—bed rest, health scares, and a delivery that nearly killed me. Recovery took years. Jack helped at first, juggling work and Lily’s skating schedule, but resentment crept in.
*“Maybe your mum could help?”* he suggested once.
*“No. She’d only poison Lily’s head with nonsense.”*
By the time I felt human again, my body wasn’t what it used to be. The weight wouldn’t budge, no matter what I did. At thirty-five, I felt decades older.
Yet Jack still called me *“the most beautiful woman he knew.”*
I dove deeper into motherhood—swimming lessons for Charlie, competitions for Lily. My own needs fell by the wayside. The weight crept on; I stopped bothering with makeup or salon visits. But Lily’s medals piled up, and I poured my pride into sewing her training outfits, dreaming of designing something worthy of the national stage.
Then Jack looked me up and down one evening.
*“You’ve really let yourself go. Must be fifteen kilos by now.”*
*“Try twenty,”* I snapped. *“Hardly surprising, is it? I’m not twenty anymore, and I’ve got two kids to raise.”*
*“Well, start trying. I want a wife I can be proud of.”*
*“You’re hardly Mr. Perfect yourself,”* I shot back, eyeing his receding hairline.
At first, I brushed it off. Then I cried. Then came *the* conversation—*“I want to admire my wife”*—and I crumbled.
*“Divorce isn’t the answer. Think of the children.”*
*“Maybe we can fix this,”* he mused.
I clung to that. *I’ll be the woman he fell for.* Not eighteen again, but close enough.
I starved myself—half a grapefruit for breakfast, nothing else till dinner. I squeezed in salon visits between school runs. Slowly, the weight dropped. Jack’s only praise? *“Good.”* But the divorce talk stopped.
*“Mum, you’re not eating,”* Lily said one morning, eyeing my grapefruit.
*“I want to be thin again.”*
*“You weren’t fat! Now you just look ill.”*
I ignored her. The mirror showed a gaunt woman with sallow skin, but what did it matter?
Six months in, I collapsed with flu. Lily dragged me to the GP. *“She’s starving herself.”*
Something snapped. I started eating again—and of course, the weight came back.
Jack caught me on the scales. *“Forty-eight kilos.”*
*“You’ll blimp up again!”* he snarled. *“I finally thought I’d have a presentable wife!”*
I was too exhausted to cry. *“I’m trying.”*
*“With a face like a slapped arse. Other women glow at thirty-five. You? Dragging around like you’re sixty. I’ll find someone younger. Someone who appreciates me.”*
*“And what makes you think a twenty-five-year-old would want you?”* I laughed, hollow. *“Face it, Jack. You’re not exactly prime stock either.”*
*“And what will you do without me?”* he sneered. *“A glorified seamstress with a vocational certificate. Who’d want you?”*
That night, I packed the kids’ bags and left.
Mum—for once—didn’t gloat. Just held me. And I swallowed my tears, plotting my next move. I knew the skating world inside out—why not sew professionally?
—
Now, as I listen to Lily’s radio interview from my little studio, pride swells in my chest.
*“Who’s your role model?”* the host asks.
*“My mum,”* she says. *“Three years ago, Dad left. No support, nothing. She sewed day and night to keep us afloat. She taught me to never give up. And she’s the most beautiful woman I know.”*
I smile. The weight’s settled where it should. I feel alive again. And tonight? We’re celebrating with pizza.
