I used to be known as “the fat girlfriend.” Not as an insult—just a quiet label people felt entitled to comment on. So I learned to make myself useful instead: funny, dependable, easy to keep around. I showed up early, stayed late, and tried to be enough.That’s how I met Sayer. We clicked instantly, and soon we were building a life that always seemed just a step away—moving in, a future, “someday.” My best friend Maren was part of everything. She’d been my support through loss and anxiety, always reminding me I deserved more.
Then I found out the truth.A shared photo notification revealed Sayer and Maren together—in my bed. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. He simply said she was more his type. Thinner. Prettier. Then came the line that broke me: I hadn’t taken care of myself, and he deserved better.Within months, they were engaged.
I blamed myself. I joined a gym, cried through workouts, changed my habits. Slowly, my body changed—and so did how people treated me. Compliments came easier, but they felt hollow.On their wedding day, I got a call from Sayer’s mother. The bride had left him. She suggested I step in—to save face.
That’s when it clicked. I wasn’t loved. I was a backup plan.When Sayer showed up later, asking for another chance, I finally stood tall. I told him the truth: losing weight didn’t make me worthy—it made his cruelty clear.The biggest thing I lost wasn’t weight. It was the belief that I had to earn respect. And this time, I didn’t look back.