When I met my husband, I was a confident size 8. I felt good about myself, and he seemed to love everything about me. We got married, and life happened—between work, household chores, and trying to be the perfect wife, I gained weight. I went up to a size 10. That’s when the complaints started.

"You’re getting bigger," he’d say, frowning at me. "You need to work out."

But when? My work schedule was hectic, and managing the house left me with no time or energy to focus on myself. If only I had a maidservant to help, I thought. And then came pregnancy—a beautiful experience, but one that changed my body in ways I hadn’t expected. By the time our daughter was born, I had doubled in size. I was now a size 16.

Instead of being supportive, my husband grew more critical.

"I can’t even carry you," he said one night, looking at me with disgust. "You’ve let yourself go. This is unhealthy and unattractive."

His words stung, but what hurt even more was how he started treating me. He denied me intimacy, stopped showing me affection, and made it painfully clear that he wasn’t into me anymore.

I was heartbroken. But the worst blow came when I discovered he was cheating. I stumbled upon the truth by accident—late nights on his phone, hidden smiles, and an air of detachment that didn’t belong in our marriage. My heart sank when I realized he was seeing someone else.

I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to go back into the dating scene, starting over with someone new. I wasn’t ready for that. So, I decided to fight for him, for us. I started jogging every morning, even when I felt too exhausted to move. I joined a gym and adjusted my diet, cutting out the little indulgences I used to enjoy. Slowly but surely, the weight started to come off. I dropped from a size 16 to a 12. Then, finally, back to a size 10.

I was beginning to feel like myself again. I felt proud of my progress. One night, while he was asleep, I decided to go through his phone. I told myself it was just to reassure myself, to see that the other women were gone.

Scrolling through his messages, I saw flirtatious exchanges with various women. My stomach churned. But one woman, in particular, caught my attention. He seemed invested in her, responding to her quickly, calling her "beautiful," even gushing about her in ways he hadn’t spoken to me in years.

I couldn’t resist. I clicked on her photos, expecting to see some picture-perfect woman with an enviable figure. But there she was—a woman who, without exaggeration, looked to be twice my size.

I froze. My jaw dropped.

How could this be? The same man who berated me for gaining weight, who refused to touch me, who shattered my confidence—was pampering and adoring someone who was bigger than I had ever been.

I didn’t say a word. The disappointment was too heavy, too consuming. The next day, I acted normal, going about my routine as if nothing had changed. But when he left for work, I packed my things, grabbed my baby, and went back to my parents’ house.

When he came home and found me gone, he called, demanding that I return.

"You need to come back, or it’s over," he said, his voice firm.

I didn’t hesitate. "It was over the moment I left," I replied.

He laughed like I was joking, but he quickly realized I wasn’t. When he heard I had rented my own place, he started begging. But his pleas meant nothing to me.

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I was done. I was a size 8 when we met, a woman full of life and confidence. I lost myself trying to be the perfect wife, trying to live up to his impossible standards. And for what? For him to cheat with someone who was double my size?

No, I wasn’t going back. I refuse to become the woman I was when I was with him—hurt, insecure, and lost. Now, I’m reclaiming my life and finding my happiness. And that, I’ll never let anyone take away from me again.