My husband made me run every morning to lose my baby weight, but his mother’s actions soon left him begging for mercy.
Six weeks ago, I had my son. It was a hard birth.
I went through twenty-three hours of labor before needing an emergency C-section. My doctor clearly told me no strenuous activity for at least eight weeks.
Ryan was there the whole time and nodded at every word.
Back at home, he told me the OB was “being overly cautious.”
“You’ve already gained enough weight,” he said. “The sooner you lose it, the sooner you’ll look like yourself again. I bet you don’t want our friends’ wives to discuss your chubby body.”
I laughed it off at first because I assumed he was making a joke.
But it was no joke.
The next morning at 5:30, he woke me up.
“Put your sneakers on.”
He handed me our son so I could feed him, and then gave him back right after, waking our teenage daughter to keep an eye on the baby while we went out.
“Go.”
Every step hurt my stitches.
It felt like I was splitting apart.
Worse than the pain was what Ryan did.
He drove behind me slowly in his BMW.
When I slowed, he honked.
If I stopped, he rolled the window down.
“You’re not quitting after two minutes.”
We repeated this every morning.
When I pleaded to rest, he’d pull out his phone and show me pictures to compare.
“See? Your stomach’s already smaller.”
After a while, I started thinking this was normal.
Then last Friday, something happened.
I rounded a street corner and saw a silver sedan parked ahead.
I didn’t know the car.
Ryan didn’t notice.
He honked as I slowed.
Suddenly, the driver’s side door opened.
A woman stepped out and walked past me without a word.
She went up to Ryan’s window.
He rolled it down, sighing in annoyance.
When he saw her face, all the color left him.
“Mom?” he asked quietly.
She was silent and held her phone up for him to see.
He stared at it for several seconds, then got out and fell to his knees on the road.
“Mom… please,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this.” ⬇️