She took two of my cutlets and told me I needed to lose weight. After six years of marriage, I’d given him three children, and now I feared being left alone.
I was thirty-six. In those six years, I’d become a mother to three beautiful children: Thomas was five, Emily three, and little Henry just six months old. I’d always dreamed of a big family, but I never imagined the toll it would take—physically, emotionally, and in every way imaginable. Life had become an endless race, and I was always gasping for breath, barely keeping pace.
I met Edward when I was nearly thirty. All my friends were long married, raising their children, while I drifted between work and home, always alone. And then there he was—tall, athletic, with that effortless charm. Back then, he already held a respectable position, managing a department at a law firm. I never thought a man like him would look twice at someone like me.
I knew his intentions were serious when he introduced me to his mother. Margaret was gentle, refined, and put me at ease immediately. She adored me and practically pushed him toward marriage. We wed in haste, almost impulsively. And then came the years of motherhood.
First Thomas, and I left my job. Then Emily, then Henry. I never returned to my career. The children were my world: the older two didn’t attend nursery, Thomas had his clubs, I taught Emily myself, and always with the baby in my arms. I loved them dearly—they were wonderful—but I had nothing left, not even… myself.
Once, I weighed just eight stone. I went to the gym, jogged in the mornings, took care of myself. Now I was nearly thirteen. My days were an endless cycle of porridge, nappies, lessons, soup, tidying, and bedtime meltdowns. There was no time for exercise, no energy left to try. And when I did, the children would pull at me, climb into my lap, demand my attention.
Edward used to joke about it at first. Called me his “little dumpling,” his “sweet panda.” But gradually, the teasing stopped. And then, so did his patience.
One Friday evening, we sat down to dinner. I’d served myself three cutlets. He glanced at my plate, silently took two, and put them back in the pan.
“You ought to slim down. If I find myself tempted by another woman—it’ll be your doing,” he said flatly, avoiding my eyes.
I froze. It felt like a blow to the chest. I knew I’d changed. That I was exhausted. That I wasn’t the woman he’d fallen for. But was it my fault I’d given everything to my family? That I barely slept because one was teething, another refused to eat broccoli, and the third had lost his schoolbook again? Didn’t I deserve just a little understanding?
I would have loved a massage, a manicure, to dye my hair. But there was no money. Everything went to the children—their clubs, food, bills, helping his mother. Edward earned well, but we had endless expenses. And of course, he had to look the part—a man in his position. I could make do with an old dressing gown. Except when I looked in the mirror, I barely recognised myself. My dresses didn’t fit. My jeans wouldn’t fasten. Everything felt awkward and strange.
Sometimes I felt I wasn’t a woman anymore. Just a shadow. Feeding, cleaning, tending—but never feeling, never daring to dream. Only Margaret kept us together. She called, visited, helped with the children. And I prayed she wouldn’t let him leave. Wouldn’t let him undo everything I’d lived for these past six years.
Sometimes I was terrified—what if one day he packed his things and walked out? Left me with three children and the ghost of the woman I used to be? I didn’t ask for much. Just that he might remember why he loved me once. And see—I was still that woman. Just so very, very tired.
