Stepping out of the hospital, Emily collided with a man in the doorway.
“Sorry,” he muttered, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before turning dismissive, as if she were already forgotten.
She’d seen that look too many times. The way men stared at slender, leggy women was different—hungry, possessive. It wasn’t fair, and it made her ache inside. Was it her fault she’d been born this way?
As a child, people had cooed over her rosy cheeks and chubby legs. But in school, lining up for P.E., she was always first in the girls’ row. They mocked her—calling her “Piggy,” “Pumpkin,” worse names she didn’t want to remember. Teachers saw but did nothing.
She’d tried diets, but the hunger always won, and the weight returned. She wasn’t ugly—just too big to be noticed.
Emily had dreamed of being a teacher, but fear of cruel nicknames made her choose nursing instead. When people were in pain, they didn’t care who helped them, as long as the pain stopped.
Her classmates were too busy with boyfriends and weddings to bother with her. They always shoved her to the front row in lectures, hiding behind her wide frame.
Shop windows taunted her with pretty dresses she’d never wear. She drowned in baggy jumpers and skirts instead. At least she was good at her job. Elderly patients loved her gentle hands.
Once, she went ice skating with friends. Teenagers snickered, *”Look at that—marching to the sausage factory!”* The laughter made her want to cry.
Her mother set her up with friends’ sons. One man pretended not to see her; another groped her before she shoved him into a puddle. *”Who’d want you anyway?”* he spat. After that, she stopped dating.
On social media, she used Fiona from *Shrek* as her profile picture. When a man asked what she *really* looked like, she joked, *”Like this, just not green.”* He laughed, thinking she was playing hard to get. She blocked him.
One day, a six-year-old boy barreled into her at work.
“Where are you running? People are resting here,” she scolded.
“I wanted to slide on the floor,” he admitted.
“Who are you here with?”
“My dad. Visiting Gran. Where’s the toilet?”
She took him. “Can you manage?”
He gave her a look, and she stifled a laugh. When he returned, she asked, “Which room is your gran in?”
He pointed to the men’s ward.
“You cheeky thing!” she teased. “What’s your name?”
“William,” he said, just as a tall, handsome man stepped out.
“William, what took so—” He spotted Emily, scanned her, and lost interest. “Was he misbehaving?”
That look—she knew it too well.
“No. Don’t scold him,” she said coldly and walked away.
The next day, William and his father returned. The man ignored her completely. She stuck her tongue out at his back—only for William to turn and flash a thumbs-up. She grinned and waved.
Later, she visited his gran, Margaret.
“You’re looking better today. William visited?”
“You saw him? Wonderful boy. I want to live long enough to see him grow.”
“You will,” Emily said firmly.
Margaret sighed. “His mother left him. Pretty little thing, ran off abroad. Now my son only dates women like her—beautiful, selfish. William can’t stand them.”
That night, Margaret showed her a drawing. A family—mother, father, child. The mother was drawn *bigger* than the father.
“He wants a mum. I think he drew you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Emily said, though her chest tightened. *Even a child sees me this way.*
A week later, William invited her to his birthday. She panicked—she had to lose weight!
At the party, a blonde, model-thin woman eyed Emily with disdain. A spilled drink sent the woman storming out, leaving Emily awkward and ready to flee.
William’s father, James, insisted on driving her home.
“You don’t have to,” she muttered.
“My mother would kill me if I didn’t.” He hesitated. “You keep showing up. I think she’s scheming.”
“I don’t love you, and you don’t love me,” Emily blurted, voice shaking. “I won’t bother you again.”
Then he kissed her.
She shoved him. “Had enough of blondes? Wanted to try something *different*?”
He stared, fascinated. She’d never looked fiercer.
Three weeks passed with no word. Then James showed up at her door—William was ill.
She hurried over, stayed to help. The boy clung to her. James watched, silent, curious.
Driving her back, he asked, “Let’s get coffee. We should talk.”
“Are you doing this for William? Don’t. I’ll hope, and you’ll never love me. I’m fat.”
“Fat?” He laughed. “You’re warm. Kind. William adores you. So do I. We could be happy.”
“And if his mother comes back?”
“She won’t. She’s remarried, signed away her rights. He’s mine.” He smiled. “So? Will you go out with me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
There’s someone for everyone. Sometimes they miss each other, too blind to see. But love—love turns the ugly duckling into a swan. The plump girl into the only soul meant for him.
