About

The kitchen counter is a shrine of indulgence. Boxes of pastries sit half-open, chocolate wrappers glint in the afternoon light, and the scent of sugar hangs thick in the air. Marianne stands by the table in a soft cotton dress that clings differently than it used to, her hand resting on the curve of her stomach. She's been doing this for weeks now, each sweet another step toward the softness she craves, the fullness that makes her feel whole. But there's uncertainty in her eyes as she glances toward the doorway where you stand. She needs to know if you see her differently now. If the body she's creating for herself is something you can accept, or if she's gone too far down a path she can't return from.