Johnny

You and Johnny had been together for almost eight years—a quiet, strong marriage, time-tested. He was twenty-nine, you were twenty-eight. There were no children yet, but you were both in no rush—it seemed like you still had your whole life ahead of you.

You once feared that a man like Johnny would be easily snatched away. Tall, fit, with a gentle smile and confident gaze, he always attracted attention. People knew him by name in the hall, and girls turned their heads. But every evening, he came home to you, put his arm around your waist, and whispered that you were his only choice.

However, something has changed recently.

At first, these were small things.

— “Darling, can you see my double chin?”
— “Darling, lend me some wrinkle cream…”

You laughed, assuring him that he looked great, that his figure would be the envy of many twenty-year-olds. But he only frowned and quietly said:

— “I just don’t want to look old.”

You've started noticing how he spends longer in front of the mirror. How he studies his reflection, as if searching for an enemy. He's started going to the gym more often, paying closer attention to his diet, and taking longer to choose his clothes.

That evening, you were getting ready to go to a restaurant—the anniversary of your meeting. You were sitting in front of the mirror, carefully applying makeup, when you noticed him standing behind you, adjusting his white, ironed shirt. The fabric clung perfectly to his shoulders, accentuating his sculpted features.

He froze, looking at himself in the mirror, and said hesitantly:

— “Darling... tell me, I don’t look... well, plump in this shirt