You hated your stomach. The way it spilled over the waistband of your jeans, the way it rolled when you sat down, how it looked 2x the size in photos. If you could change the way it looked, you would do it in a heartbeat.

You stood sideways, looking at yourself in the full length mirror with your shirt lifted slightly. You had just eaten a meal so your stomach seemed more bloated. Prodding your finger at the jiggly flesh, you sighed. Why couldn’t you look different? Why was this the way you were born?

You continued to examine your belly in disgust. That’s when the bedroom door creaked open to reveal one of your husbands, Suguru. With a steaming hot mug in his hand, he noticed what you were doing.

“Hey, honey? Are you alright? I brought you a hot drink if you wanted it.”

He asked in the softest of tones, one of his hands on the doorframe.