FORBIDDEN: HIS PLUS SIZE OBSESSION

“Look at you, Lena. You’ve let yourself go!

I can’t even get hard seeing you naked anymore.

I am a man with needs! What do you expect? That I fuck the wall?!”

---

Lena's marriage was once a fairytale…

Until she became the part he no longer wanted.

Lena gave her husband everything—her love, her loyalty, her body. But when her weight began to change, so did the man who once loved her and called her beautiful.

Soon, she became a woman begging for scraps of affection from a man who could barely stand the sight of her.

Still… she stayed.

Still… she believed she could earn his love back.

Until the past came knocking.

“You said yes. That means you’re mine, Lena".

She laughed it off at first—because how could she take him seriously?

It was a childish promise years ago.

Besides she's a married woman now. It's forbidden!

But he isn’t joking.

And unlike her husband…

He looks at her like she’s everything.

Dangerously obsessed.

Unapologetically possessive.

Completely unwilling to let her go.

SWEET TURNED SOUR

You will never truly understand heartbreak until it comes from the same man who once adored you—who protected you, who loved you without hesitation.

“What’s the number?”

My husband’s voice came from the doorway.

I flinched and looked up.

That’s how sad my life had become—the usual routine of stepping on the scale.

Mitch, my husband, stood there glaring at me, his arms crossed, his jaw tight.

That familiar crease sat between his brows—the one that used to mean he cared. Now, it only looked like irritation.

I swallowed.

“I don’t have time, Lena. What’s the number?”

He asked again, impatience creeping into his tone.

My gaze dropped to the scale beneath my bare feet. The digits glowed up at me like a verdict.

304.4 lbs.

My heart skipped, and tears spilled before I could stop them.

I had gained again? When I was supposed to be losing?

After all the skipped meals and morning walks that left my knees aching… this is what I got?

“I am waiting.”

Mitch’s voice made me flinch.

I looked up at him, fighting back tears.

“It’s… three… three hundred and—”

He stepped closer, leaning just enough to see. When he confirmed the number, a humorless laugh slipped from his lips.

“Three hundred and four. Wonderful.”

He dragged a hand down his face.

After that, he didn’t say anything else. His eyes just moved slowly over my body.

That silence hurt more than words. Those eyes once looked at me with so much love and admiration. Now, it felt like they were burning me with hate.

My fingers curled into my palms.

“I tried,” I whispered. “I really did. I’ve been walking every morning, barely eating… I don’t know why it’s not working.”

“Don’t,” he cut in flatly. “Just… don’t give me that silly excuse.”

The sharpness in his tone made me shrink.

He continued,

“I married a girl whose waist I could circle with my hands.”

His gaze flicked back to me, colder now.

“Now… I come home to you waddling around the house like a damn whale, Lena. How long am I supposed to put up with this?!”

I swallowed hard, tears clouding my eyes.

“Mitch, that’s not fair—”

“It’s not fair to me either!” he snapped.

“Because I don’t even recognize the wife I married anymore.”

That broke something in me.

“I’m still me,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m still the woman you married. I just… need you to be patient with me. I’ll get back in shape soon.”

I sucked in a breath before continuing.

“I’m not happy like this either. You think I don’t see it? I do. I’m gaining every day, and it’s killing me. I just… I want us back. The way we were. Please, baby.”

I expected something—anything.

Instead, Mitch turned without a word and walked out of the bathroom.

Seconds later, the front door slammed.

I stayed there, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.

I thought I had married my forever.

I was wrong.

But the worst part?

Mitch wasn’t always like this.

For years, he had been the most caring man I knew.

And I wasn’t this big when we said “I do.”

Back then, I was effortlessly slender—the kind that made strangers suggest I try modeling.

Then came the first miscarriage.

My weight started to change after that. I tried to manage it, but most of my focus was on medications and trying to conceive again.

Then the second and third miscarriages hollowed me out completely.

I stopped leaving the house. I spent hours crying beside the empty crib, staring at the tiny bed that never held our baby.

Worse, Mitch grew distant. And since I had nowhere to go and no job, food became my only comfort.

By the time I realized it, everything had changed.

My body… and my life.

I tried to fix it. Starved myself. Pushed my body until it ached all over.

The scale would drop, then climb higher—like it was punishing me for trying.

I kept waiting for Mitch to pull me close and say,

I love you no matter what. You can do this.

He never did.

You know the cruelest part of a dying love?

Your memories turn into weapons. They show you everything you had… everything you were… and force you to measure it against everything you’ve become.

I wasn’t sure I could survive the comparison.

I stared at the dark screen of the scale, tears filling my eyes.

This would’ve been easier to endure if it had always been this way.

But it wasn’t.

And that’s what makes it unbearable.

OLD MITCH

I met Mitch fifteen years ago at a coffee shop.

I was sixteen, working as a store assistant and trying to look like I had my life together.

I still remember what I wore that day.

A faded white sundress scattered with tiny yellow flowers. Sandals laced around my ankles.

Mitch was standing in line ahead of me, ordering oat milk and caramel drizzle.

He stood out without trying—tall, broad-shouldered, and he smelled so nice too.

I suddenly became aware of myself. My dress. My hair. The way I was standing.

When he finally turned, I was blown away by his handsomeness—I couldn't help but stare.

Because I didn't move, he walked straight into me.

His coffee tilted, and I jumped back just in time.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, reaching for napkins.

Then his eyes met mine.

And for a second… everything else faded.

They were blue. Icy, bright, almost like an artwork. The kind of eyes that made you pause and wonder if they were real.

“Did I spill any on you?”

I shook my head, my cheeks already warming.

“You almost baptized me, sir,” I said with a nervous laugh, brushing my hair back. “But I’m fine.”

That made him laugh.

And something about that moment… shifted.

“Please don’t call me sir,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I might be tall, but I’m still a teenager.”

“A teenager?” I echoed, confused.

“I’m nineteen.”

I blinked, surprised. He didn’t look it.

“Wow...”

He smiled at that—like he was used to the reaction.

“I should at least buy you a coffee to make up for that.”

I lifted my hands quickly.

“No, really, it’s fine—”

“I insist.”

It wasn’t forceful. He was so gentle I couldn't help but feel butterflies in my tummy.

And when I looked at him again, something in my chest softened.

“…Okay,” I murmured.

He bought me an extra coffee and a muffin.

“Can I steal a minute of your time?” he asked.

My boss was waiting.

But… I didn’t know when I’d ever see him again.

I glanced toward the store, then back at him—and nodded.

We found a small table and sat down.

“I know you probably hear this all the time,” he said, “but you’re really beautiful.”

I choked on my drink.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes,” I managed, avoiding his eyes, completely embarrassed.

The truth was… I didn’t hear things like that. Not from men like him.

Someone like him... what could he possibly see in me?

“People usually just say I’m too thin,” I admitted, gesturing vaguely at myself. “Like… sickly thin.”

He frowned slightly.

“Well,” he said softly, “I don't see anything wrong with you."

My chest tightened.

“Don’t let anyone make you feel like you need to change. You should be proud and confident,they are probably jealous of your body. In fact I think you are very attractive".

Something warm spread through me at that statement.

Coming from someone who looks like him made it unbelievable yet wholesome.

My cheeks burned again this time so much I couldn't bear it.

I stood up suddenly, my face burning. “I’m sorry—I have to go. My boss is waiting.”

I left before he could say anything else. Before he could even ask my name.

And the entire day, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

About his smile, his eyes, his voice.

The way he had looked at me.

I even daydreamed about us starting a family.

___

I smiled sadly at the memory and brushed off my tears.

There were things to do. Work to prepare for.

NEED YOU

I forced myself up and walked back into the bedroom Mitch and I had shared for three years of our marriage.

I hadn’t slept in that bed for over two years now.

Not since I left it.

Every morning, he used to wake me up to complain about my snoring.

I apologized.

Then… I started staying awake longer, trying to fall asleep after him, hoping it would help.

It didn’t.

So I told him I’d move to the guest room.

I thought he’d question it.

Thought he’d tell me to stay.

He didn’t.

“I actually think that’s smart,” he said. “Good thinking.”

That was all.

He hadn’t touched me in a long time anyway.

Not since my body changed.

Not unless I “snapped back,” as he liked to put it.

My phone suddenly rang from the guest room.

Who could be calling at this hour?

I wiped my palms on my sweatpants and walked toward the guest room to answer.

When I finally got there and picked up, the caller’s name sent a wave of anxiety through me.

“Hello?”

“Lena Mitchell?”

My stomach dropped.

“Ye—yes.”

“Mrs. Mitchell, I’m calling regarding the loan you took out a year ago. We’ve sent several notices, but the payment is now sixty-three days past due.”

I closed my eyes, leaning against the doorframe.

Weak and exhausted.

“I—I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been meaning to call.”

“We need to discuss a payment arrangement, Ms. Mitchell. The full balance is $18,400, and if we don’t receive a payment by the end of this week, we’ll have no choice but to escalate the matter.”

Eighteen thousand, four hundred dollars.

The number echoed in my skull, dragging up memories of why I took it in the first place.

The medical bills after the second miscarriage. The fertility specialist a co-worker had recommended. The treatments that were supposed to fix me.

It had all been in vain.

None of it worked.

None of it.

“I understand,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’ll figure something out. Please, just give me a little more time.”

“We need a payment by Friday, Ms. Mitchell. At least five hundred dollars to stop the collections process.”

Friday.

Three days.

I had only forty-seven dollars in my checking account.

“Please… can you give me more time—”

She hung up before I could finish.

The phone felt heavy in my hand as I stared at the screen.

I had taken that risk hoping it would solve everything. That it would give us a chance.

But the treatments failed.

The baby never came.

Instead, I gained weight and sank deeper into myself.

And how could a baby come when Mitch refused to touch me anymore?

Crying wouldn’t pay my debt.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and sat on the edge of the guest bed, my chest tight with frustration.

How could I ever pay that kind of money back?

I worked nights as a server at a local bar and mornings as a waitress at a nearby café.

Minimum wage. Irregular shifts. Tips that barely covered groceries.

This wasn’t the life I was promised.

This wasn’t the life I dreamed of as a young girl.

I had no one else to turn to except my husband.

And after what happened this morning… he would probably lash out.

But I had no choice.

My thumb hovered over his name.

The heart emoji I’d added years ago still sat beside it—a relic from a time when I believed in us.

I pressed call.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

“You’ve reached Mitch. Leave a message.”

The beep felt like a knife between my ribs.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

What was I supposed to say?

In the end, I didn’t have the heart to tell him about the loan.

AT LEAST

MITCH'S POV

I was staring at the TV replaying highlights of the match we’d lost 3-1 with bottles on the table in front of me.

I cracked open another one, trying to flush down the frustration inside my chest.

My childhood friend Jake walked in from the kitchen, towel over his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow at the growing graveyard of bottles.

“Dude. It’s barely past noon. You didn’t even go to work today. This about the game? Come on, man. It’s just football.”

I let out a dry laugh and took a long pull.

“Nah. The match is the least of my problems.”

He dropped into the armchair across from me, already grinning like he knew something juicy was coming.

“Then what’s got you trying to pickle yourself this early? You came to my place yet you are not happy? Talk to me,man. I am your best friend.”

I stared at the screen for a second, watching the opposition celebrate another goal.

“If you had the wife waiting for me at home, you’d be drinking too.”

Jake barked out a laugh.

“Bro, Lena? She’s sweet. Always has been. Don't do her like that".

“Sweet?” I muttered. “She’s ballooned up to three hundred pounds, man. We've got no kids yet what's her excuse? Every time I try to touch her now it feels like I’m punishing myself. Half the time I can’t even get it up. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Jake shook his head, still chuckling.

“Come on, is it really that bad?”

“It’s worse, you will never understand because you got someone like Sarah” I said, peeling at the label on my bottle.

“Lena’s always crying about something. Walking around the house like a sad, defeated cow, expecting me to still look at her the way I did when we first met. I sold my motorcycle for her back then. Took care of her when she was stressing over bills. And this is what I get? A fat, ugly wife who kills my sex drive. Dude...if you are in my shoes you did cry every night...my worst mistake. She’s just… not the woman I married anymore.”

Jake sighed.

"Lena is a great wife...yes she lost herself but with good workout routine I believe she will snap back.....you should take it easy..on her.... remember she's your wife".

"Easy for you to say".

I muttered.

Right then Sarah walked in wearing a tight tank top and black yoga pants that clung to every toned curve.

Three kids later and she still looked like this — flat stomach, perky ass, the kind of body that made a man forget his own name.

She carried a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, setting it down in front of me with a warm smile.

“Breakfast, boys. Saved some for you, Mitch.”

As she leaned over, I caught the flash of red lace from her thong peeking above the waistband. My eyes lingered longer than they should have. When was the last time Lena wore anything that wasn’t stretched-out cotton?

Jake noticed and glared at me.

He pulled Sarah down onto his lap, kissed her hard, one hand gripping her ass while the other tangled in her hair. The kiss was possessive, loud enough to make a point.

“Hey,” he said when they broke apart, eyes locked on me. “Watch it, man. That’s my wife you’re eyeing like that.”

I raised my hands, forcing a grin. “Relax, bro. I was just appreciating. She looks incredible. You’re a lucky bastard, Jake. Still tight after three kids. I’d kill for a woman who looked like that waiting at home.”

Sarah blushed and kissed Jake again quickly. “I have to feed the baby. Be right back.”

My gaze followed the small wet circle forming on her tank top over one nipple as she stood up.

When she left the room, Jake shot me a hard stare. “What the fuck was that?”

“Relax,” I said, laughing it off. “I know I’m that good-looking to make you intimidated, but I’m not trying to break bro code.”

“Shut up, you man-whore,” he snapped, half-joking.

I laughed, but deep down, a heavy knot of regret twisted in my gut.

I wished I could rewind time and choose differently.

Marry someone who actually stayed in shape. Someone whose body still turned me on instead of shutting me down. Someone like Sarah.

Back when Lena and I were dating, she was lean, energetic, the kind of girl who made heads turn.

Now…I am sure my friends laugh at my back because of her..

“Come on, let’s eat,” Jake said.

I took a bite of the breakfast. It was… fine. Edible. But nothing special. The eggs were a little rubbery, the seasoning barely there. As I chewed, Jake moaned like he was having a great experience.

“Babe!” he shouted toward the bedroom. “This is fire. Best breakfast you’ve made in weeks. Restaurant quality, I swear.”

“Thank you!” Sarah called back, sounding genuinely happy.

I forced a smile, but the food tasted like cardboard in my mouth. Lena’s cooking was on another level — rich stews, perfectly spiced soups that actually tasted like home. Even when I was pissed at her, I had to admit that much. No one else had ever come close.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table. Lena’s name lit up the screen.

Honey, you didn’t eat breakfast. Should I prepare your favorite soup? I’m at work now, so I can pick up the ingredients on my way home.

For a split second, my stomach actually growled at the thought. Lena’s soup was that good — thick, flavorful, comforting in a way nothing else was.

I could practically taste it.

But I locked the screen and tossed the phone aside.

She needed to understand I was still angry and still disgusted by her.

Punishing her with this silent treatment will make her see how offended I was.

If I replied nicely, she’d think everything was okay, and I wasn’t ready to let her off the hook yet.

HAPPY WIFE

The message I sent to my husband Mitch was left unanswered. Just like the ones I sent days ago… weeks ago. He had stopped replying to my texts.

I scrolled through the one-sided conversation, my heart tightening at how pathetic it looked.

Suddenly, a message popped up. Hoping it was his reply, I immediately clicked on it.

“Just to make sure you know how serious we are… if the money isn’t paid before Friday, we will take serious actions. I am reminding you because you cry a lot.”

It was from the loan company.

I sighed.

Should I swallow my pride and ask my boss for an advance payment? Maybe…

“Lena…”

I blinked and looked up, my hands still buried in the sticky dough.

It was Julia, my co-worker and closest friend at the café. Flour dusted her apron and cheeks like war paint.

“You’ve been miles away since you walked in. Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me, right?”

I forced a small smile and quickly thought of a lie.

“No… I mean, thanks for asking. It’s just… my period is a bit late, so…”

“Oh my God! Congratulations!”

Before I could correct her, Julia squealed and pulled me into a tight hug, smearing flour all over my black uniform.

The warm yeasty scent of her apron filled my nose.

“I’m not sure yet,” I mumbled against her shoulder as she continued squeezing me. “Julia… I’m really not sure.”

When she finally pulled back, she gasped at the white mess she’d made on my clothes.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

She brushed at the flour frantically, only making it worse. “I got way too excited for you.”

I laughed softly.

“It’s okay. I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

Julia and I were the only married women among the servers at Honey Home Bakery and Café, so we naturally gravitated toward each other.

There was something comforting about sharing the same stage of life.

“Now that you’re pregnant—” she started again, eyes sparkling.

“Not confirmed yet,” I interrupted gently, turning back to the cake I was icing.

She waved it off.

“My husband and I have been talking about trying for a fourth baby.”

“That’s nice,” I said, carefully spinning the cake stand as I smoothed the buttercream.

Julia leaned against the counter, lowering her voice.

“You won’t believe what happened last night.”

I furrowed my brows curiously.

“My husband Billy came home from work, ate the dinner I prepared, and went straight to bed without even touching me. Not a kiss, not a hug—nothing.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

I could relate more than she knew.

“That’s… rough. How long has it been since he last…?”

“Last what?” she asked, tilting her head like she was confused.

“Not… touching you?”

“Oh!”

She burst out laughing.

“Just last night! For six years of our marriage we can’t go a day without sex. It’s weird, you know… That’s why I panicked. I even called his mother. He apologized immediately, and early this morning we had three rounds before I left for work.” She winked. “That’s why I told the young girls I had hip pain—so it won’t look suspicious. They have no idea it was from my husband’s very energetic delivery.”

I nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“Wow… that’s… really good for you. No wonder you’re so happy this morning.”

She grinned mischievously.

“Thank you! What about you, Lena? How’s your sex life with Mitch?”

“Fantastic,” I said, rolling my eyes with a playful shake of my head. “He drains me every single day.”

Yeah… what a lie, Lena.

Julia’s eyes widened.

“Ah, so that’s why you always look tired and sleep-deprived! I thought you were depressed or dying from some mysterious illness.”

I froze for a second.

Do I really look that bad?!

I quickly masked my surprise.

“Far from it. I’m perfectly healthy. If I’m dying from anything, it’s from too much love and mind-blowing sex.”

“Girl!” Julia shrieked, and we both dissolved into laughter, the sound echoing through the warm bakery.

Suddenly, loud cheering and high-pitched squeals erupted from the front of the café.

“What’s going on out there?” I asked, wiping my hands on my apron.