“Look at the state of you! More like a dumpling than a proper wife!” Oliver scowled at his wife, realising he was well and truly fed up with her—he couldn’t wait to get out of their shared home.
“Love, I’ve just had our baby. Give me time, I’ll lose the weight,” Maisie said, her voice trembling.
“All my mates’ wives had kids ages ago and snapped back straight away. Didn’t pile on half as much as you, even during the pregnancy!”
In his heart, Oliver despised her. This wasn’t the woman he’d imagined by his side—he’d wanted someone lively, confident, put together, even at home.
But here she was, a sorry sight in her dressing gown, always wearing that guilty look.
Then there was Lottie—now *she* was different. Bold, self-assured, stunning. Always waiting for him, head over heels in love. And like any mistress worth her salt, she was counting on him leaving Maisie.
Oliver’s hand slid into his pocket, reaching for his phone…
“Just popping out for a walk—might grab a loaf while I’m at it,” he lied, stepping outside and immediately ringing Lottie instead.
“Hey, Kitten! Missed you like mad. Can’t stand being at home. Fancy me coming over now?”
“Ooh, yes—get here quick!” Lottie purred.
Oliver grabbed the bread on autopilot, grimaced at the sound of the baby crying, then told Maisie work had called him in for an emergency cover shift. His job had irregular hours, so the lie came easy.
Maisie nodded, trying to kiss him goodbye, but he dodged it smoothly, like it was nothing.
Later, once the baby was asleep, she sat alone in the quiet, replaying his words.
Yes, she *had* changed since their wedding day—stopped taking care of herself, put on weight. The little one took up all her time, so meals were rushed, and midnight snacks became the norm.
By 11 PM, she tried calling Oliver. No answer—phone switched off. She fed the baby and went to bed.
The next morning, Oliver walked in and announced right there on the doorstep that he was leaving. Found someone else. Didn’t love her anymore. But he’d ‘do right’ by his kid—send money, though not a penny more than he had to.
Putting words to what Maisie felt then? Impossible. But she didn’t cry. Didn’t beg.
A year passed…
Plenty changed in that time. The little one started nursery. Maisie got a job, joined a gym, signed up for swimming. The weight began to shift—not model-slim, but softer, healthier.
At work, a colleague named James took her under his wing, friendly from the start.
Then one day, he asked her to the cinema. Then the park. Before long, they were properly dating, and six months later, they married. James never batted an eye at her figure—he loved her smile, her eyes, the kindness in her.
He treated her boy as his own, and soon enough, the little lad was calling him ‘Dad’.
Then one day, Maisie bumped into an old neighbour from her Oliver days.
“You’ll never guess—saw Oliver recently! Married his bit on the side, didn’t he? She’s just had a baby, *proper* piled it on. Now he’s always ‘working late’.”
Maisie couldn’t care less. She’d long stopped thinking about her ex. The child support was pitiful, and he barely bothered with his son. But it didn’t matter.
Because now? She was truly happy—with James, the best husband and father she could’ve wished for.
