I sat at the dinner table pushing rice around my plate while Mark went on about his day at the office. The food smelled good, but my stomach felt tight already. He took another bite of chicken, chewed for a second, then looked at me the way he always did when he was about to say something I didn’t want to hear.
“You know, Sandra, you’ve put on quite a bit lately,” he said casually, like he was talking about the weather. “That dress you wore last weekend looked a little tight around the middle. Maybe it’s time you did something about it. I’m just saying this because I care.”
My fork stopped moving. Heat rushed to my face. I’d heard this before, maybe a hundred times in the last year. Every time I reached for seconds or wore something comfortable, he found a way to bring it up. I set my fo
