When jealousy was loud, he made the treadmill louder.
When Jennifer entered my thoughts during bench press, Victor shouted another repetition.
When I felt sorry for myself, he gave me something physical to survive.
Work helped too.
There I was judged by performance.
Clean.
Simple.
Numbers.
Results.
If something failed, you fixed it.
Eventually, my body began changing faster than my mind noticed.
Months passed.
The separation became normal.
Jennifer and I stopped fighting as often.
Kevin’s name stopped producing instant nausea.
Then, two weeks before the one-year mark, something happened at the house.
I was waiting for Jennifer to return from dinner.
The kids were asleep.
I spilled soda down my shirt.
I threw it into the dryer after rinsing it.
Then Jennifer came home early.
I stood shirtless in the kitchen trying to untangle the damp fabric when I heard footsteps.
I turned.
Jennifer stopped.
She stared.
Immediately, every insult she had ever said returned.
Fat.
Unattractive.
Boring.
I pulled the wet shirt against my stomach.
“Hey.”
She did not answer immediately.
“How was your night?”
“Fine.”
Her eyes stayed on me.
I felt ridiculous.
“The kids did homework.”
She nodded.
“Dinner’s done.”
“Okay.”
“I’m leaving.”
Still staring.
“If you don’t mind, I’m using the bathroom first.”
“Sure.”
I escaped.
Inside the bathroom, I untangled the shirt.
Then looked up.
The mirror covered most of the wall.
I had not seen my full torso clearly in months.
My apartment mirror was tiny.
At the gym, I had trained myself not to stare.
I looked now.
My stomach was flatter.
My chest had shape.
Shoulders wider.
Arms defined.
My waist had shrunk dramatically.
I turned slightly.
The man in the mirror was not a fitness model.
But he looked strong.
Healthy.
Attractive.
I stared at myself.
Then I understood Jennifer’s expression.
She had not been disgusted.
She had been surprised.
Maybe more than surprised.
For the first time, I saw myself without her voice narrating what I looked like.
That changed something.
When I left the bathroom, Jennifer was still in the hallway.
“Good night.”
Her eyes moved over me again.
“Good night, Matt.”
Her voice sounded softer.
I left with something close to a swagger.
Victor noticed the confidence immediately.
During the next workout, he caught me checking the mirror.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The guy who finally noticed he has shoulders.”
I laughed.
“Shut up.”
Victor stepped aside dramatically.
“Please continue admiring yourself.”
“I hate you.”
“Look at that jawline.”
“Victor.”
“Love is beautiful.”
I nearly dropped the dumbbells laughing.
The physical changes became impossible to ignore after that.
My waist went from forty-four inches to thirty-six.
Shirt collars fit.
Stairs stopped bothering me.
I tied my shoes without holding my breath.
I got out of the car without making the involuntary noise that had quietly become normal.
People reacted differently too.
Women held eye contact longer.
Cashiers smiled more.
Coworkers commented.
I did not want to believe appearance mattered that much.
It did.
Jennifer noticed.
Her behavior shifted subtly.
More smiles.
Longer conversations.
A hand brushing hair behind her ear when we talked.
She stopped looking at me with guilt.
Started looking with curiosity.
Then came the separation anniversary.
Legally, we could finally move forward.
My attorney prepared the divorce papers.
I decided not to have Jennifer served.
After twelve years, I thought our ending deserved at least one act of respect.
I brought the envelope to the house.
Jennifer was upstairs trying on a dress.
She stood before the mirror fastening earrings.
“Hey.”
She turned.
Then smiled.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful.”
Her expression softened.
“Remember this dress?”
I looked closer.
Then laughed.
“I bought that.”
“Nine years ago.”
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Grace and Ethan are nine.”
I stopped.
Jennifer smiled sadly.
“That was the night.”
I remembered.
Promotion.
Italian restaurant.
Dress I had pretended we could not afford.
Wine.
Laughing.
Then home.
Our twins had probably begun that night.
For a second, the old marriage returned.
Not in reality.
Memory.
Then Kevin entered the image.
I pushed it away.
“I brought something.”
I placed the envelope on the bed.
Jennifer looked at it.
Her expression fell.
“Divorce papers.”
“Yes.”
“That was fast.”
“It took a year.”
I smiled slightly.
She did not.
“I’ll look at them.”
“Okay.”
She turned back toward the mirror.
Too casual.
That confused me.
I found Ethan playing video games.
“Homework?”
“Almost.”
“Meaning no.”
He sighed.
I gave him the look.
He shut the game off.
“Fine.”
Then I found Grace in the living room.
She was looking through our wedding album.
I sat beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at pictures.”
She pointed toward one of Ryan and me in tuxedos.
“You look the same now.”
“Now?”
“Since you lost weight.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“So I was ugly before?”
Her eyes widened.
“No!”
I laughed.
“I’m kidding.”
She hit my arm.
Then became quiet.
“Are you and Mom ever getting back together?”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes people stop being good married partners.”
“But you still like her.”
“I care about her.”
“Does she care about you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why not?”
Children make adult problems sound stupid.
Sometimes they are.
I kissed her forehead.
“Because caring isn’t always enough to make a marriage work.”
She looked down at the album.
Jennifer was standing in the hallway.
I do not know how much she heard.
A few nights later, I returned to cycling class.
I had skipped it for months.
A woman named Rachel sat three bikes away.
We had talked before.
Divorced.
Two kids.
Quick smile.
Sarcastic sense of humor.
She looked at me twice before recognizing me.
“Matthew?”
“Hey.”
She stared.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing.”
“You lost a whole person.”
I laughed.
“You exaggerate.”
“Not enough.”
We took bikes beside each other.
During the class, she teased me about disappearing.
Afterward, she touched my shoulder.
“Don’t vanish again.”
Then walked away smiling.
I stood there wondering whether she had flirted.
I had been married too long.
I was rusty.
Over the next few weeks, I attended cycling more often.
Mostly because of Rachel.
Each time, I promised myself I would ask her out.
Each time, I lost courage.
Victor noticed.
Of course.
One evening, Rachel walked over.
“Your friend says you wanted to ask me something.”
I looked past her.
Victor stood near the free weights.
Smiling.
I wanted to kill him.
Rachel waited.
“Uh.”
Great start.
“I was wondering if you wanted to do something sometime.”
She smiled.
“Are you asking me out?”
“Yes.”
“Then say that.”
I took a breath.
“Rachel, would you like to go out with me?”
She handed me a folded piece of paper.
Her number.
“Call after eight.”
I stared.
She laughed.
“Victor bet me ten bucks you’d chicken out.”
I glared across the room.