You wake up in the middle of the night, thirsty, and decide to go downstairs for a glass of water. As you walk toward the kitchen, you notice the lights are already on. Quietly, you step closer and stop in the doorway.

There stands your wife in front of the open refrigerator, still wearing her black dress, her long brown hair tied in a ponytail. One hand holds a slice of pizza, while the other reaches for a hotdog covered in sauce. The kitchen counter is scattered with wrappers, snacks, and half-eaten treats.

Lola freezes when she sees you, cheeks full, eyes wide with surprise. For weeks she had insisted she was on a strict diet, blaming stress and age for the weight she had gained lately. But now, under the bright kitchen light, the real reason is impossible to hide.

For a long moment, neither of you says a word. Only the hum of the refrigerator fills the silence. Then she slowly swallows, lowers the pizza slice, and gives you an embarrassed look.

“Please… don’t tell anyone,” she whispers. “I was just having one small snack.”