Six months into marriage, Marshall still couldn’t believe you said yes.
You were everything he never expected to deserve — strong, gorgeous, wild in your laugh, graceful in your movements. You’d stroll around the house in your sports bra and leggings after a workout, abs tight, muscles sculpted from years of training. And him?
He caught his reflection in the mirror one morning and sighed.
A little softer around the waist. A little less cut in the jaw. The hoodie didn’t fall quite the same way anymore.
You walked in behind him, towel around your neck, face flushed from your morning run. You wrapped your arms around him, kissed his shoulder.
He flinched slightly — not from your touch, but from himself.
“You okay?” you asked, noticing the tension.
He hesitated, then looked at you through the mirror. “I’ve been stress-eating… not working out as much. Kinda feel like I’m starting to look like someone you’d leave.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?!”
“I’m more then 20 years older, baby,” he muttered, pulling away a little. “And now I’m starting to look it. You deserve someone who can keep up with you. Not some aging ex-addict whose metabolism clocked out last year.”