Secretive

Chapter 39

Jazmines Perspective

the long, exhausting day. But instead, I stood frozen, staring at my reflection. My body—this body—felt like it didn't even belong to me anymore. I knew things would change after having the baby, but I wasn't ready for this.

The marks that lined my skin, the stretch and softness of my stomach—it used to be flat, toned, something I felt proud of. Now it sagged in ways I never imagined. My skin, once smooth, was covered in reminders of the life I'd brought into this world. My breasts, once perky, now felt heavy, stretched, as if they too carried the weight of my exhaustion.

I had given life, and yet, standing there, staring at myself, I felt like I'd lost part of my own.

My heart sank as I ran my hands over the curves that once made me feel beautiful, confident... but now? Now they felt foreign. I didn't recognize the woman in the mirror. I hated the way my body felt, the way it looked. Every little mark, every extra inch seemed to scream at me, pointing out just how far I'd fallen from what I used to be.

I felt disgusting, unwanted. The woman in the mirror was not the same woman who caught looks from across the room, who moved with pride and confidence. She was... broken, used, ugly.

I couldn't take it anymore. My chest felt tight, the pressure building up until it felt like I couldn't breathe. Without thinking, I grabbed the towels hanging on the rack, one after the other, and threw them over the mirror, covering every inch until there was nothing left of my reflection. I couldn't stand to look at myself. Not like this.

But even as I blocked out the sight, the feelings stayed. No amount of towels could cover up the shame, the self-hate that welled up inside me. The ugly truth of how I felt settled in deep, and I couldn't stop the tears from falling.

First, one tear rolled down, then another. Before I knew it, my chest was heaving, and the sobs came harder, louder. I cried for the body I used to have, for the woman I used to be. I cried because, despite everything, I didn't feel beautiful anymore. I didn't feel enough anymore.

And the thought that Dylan might feel the same way? It made me sick. I wouldn't even be surprised if she didn't want to touch me anymore. Hell, I could barely stand to look at myself, so why would she?

Dylan had been patient—always supportive, always kind. But how much longer could that last? I could see it in her eyes sometimes, the way they flickered when she looked at me. I didn't know if it was just me overthinking it, but I couldn't help but feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as attracted to me anymore.

How could she be? This wasn't the body she fell in love with. It wasn't the same body she used to crave, the one she couldn't keep her hands off of. Now, I just felt... distant from her. I felt like there was this gap between us that I couldn't close.

Every time we lay next to each other, I wondered if she was thinking about it. Thinking about how I didn't look the same, how I wasn't the same. And what if she didn't want me anymore? What if she was too scared to tell me, too scared to admit that the desire wasn't there like it used to be?

I felt the tears well up again, stinging my eyes as the reality hit me harder than before. The weight of it crushed me. How could I expect her to want me when I didn't even want myself? How could I ask her to touch me when I could barely stand to feel my own skin, to see my own reflection?

I wouldn't blame her if she stayed away, if she didn't want to be close anymore. But the thought of losing that connection, of losing her touch, her warmth—it broke me. I couldn't stop the sob that escaped my throat, couldn't stop the tears that followed.

I was terrified. Terrified that my body, this body, would push her away. And that maybe, no matter how much she loved me, it wouldn't be enough to make her want me.