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The mirror didn't lie. It never had.
Luna stared at her reflection in silence, her breath catching as her fingers grazed the edge of her swollen face. Her once-sculpted jawline had long since disappeared beneath soft folds of exhaustion and time. Her eyes, once wide and filled with dreams, now looked hollow-dimmed by sleepless nights, relentless cries, and the weight of invisible burdens.
She used to be beautiful. Not just in the eyes of strangers, but in the way she moved, the way she laughed, the way she dared to dream. She was the daughter of a respected businessman, a woman who once wore designer dresses and stiletto heels without a second thought. Luna had lived in a world of luxury and ease, her life framed by chandeliers, brunches, and soft jazz on Sunday mornings.
And yet, here she stood-barefoot in a kitchen that smelled like old formula and burnt toast, dressed in faded pajamas that clung tightly to her body. Two children slept in the room behind her, their soft breathing the only sound that reminded her she still had a purpose in this world. They were her everything.
But he wasn't.
Darius. Her husband. The man she had once believed would walk through fire for her, now couldn't even bother to hold the door open. Once, he had whispered promises against her skin and made her feel like the center of the universe. Now, he barely looked at her. His eyes, once filled with passion, now held disdain. Indifference. Sometimes even disgust.
The change had been slow. It began after the birth of their first child, but became undeniable after the second. Luna's body changed-of course it did. Pregnancy had taken its toll. Her hips widened, her belly stretched, her skin marked with the lines of creation. But instead of admiration, instead of gratitude, she was met with silence... and later, cruel remarks.
"You used to care about how you looked," he said once, not even glancing up from his phone.
"I don't have time to care," she had answered quietly.
He shrugged. "Make time."
She tried. For months, she tried. Diets. Workouts. Tightening clothes around a body that no longer fit the mold. But every effort was met with mockery-not just from Darius, but from Bianca, his sister, who never missed a moment to sneer at Luna's weight or compare her to other women.
"Men don't stay faithful to whales," Bianca said once, sipping her wine like it was holy water.
The words hit like stones. But the worst came weeks later.
It was midnight when Darius stumbled home, smelling of expensive perfume that wasn't hers. Lipstick stained the collar of his shirt. He didn't even hide it. He just dropped his keys on the counter, muttered something about being tired, and walked past her like she was invisible.
The next morning, Luna asked him, trembling, "Was it her?"
He didn't answer at first. Just stared at his coffee.
"Alessia?" she pressed.
He looked up slowly. "What difference does it make?"
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