Chapter 11: "When The Scale Speaks"

Lily had stopped counting the days since she last cared about her weight. At first, she had felt a flicker of guilt with every extra bite, but that voice had grown quieter with time. It wasn't like she was purposefully sabotaging herself—at least, that's what she told herself. She was just... eating. Enjoying. Living without rules. If that meant finishing the leftovers after her siblings were done or sneaking in an extra serving of rice at dinner, then so be it.

Weeks passed, and she hardly noticed the changes. The clothes that had once been snug were now tight. The oversized T-shirt she loved no longer draped over her like it used to. Still, she ignored it. She ignored the stares in school, the whispers she imagined when she walked past certain classmates. She scrolled past weight loss posts on TikTok without feeling the usual pang of longing. She had convinced herself she didn't care anymore.

Her eating habits had shifted into something almost automatic. She ate when she was bored. She ate when she was stressed. She ate when she was happy. The kitchen had become both a comfort and a curse. She knew she should stop, but the moment she tried to restrain herself, a louder part of her mind whispered, "What's the point? You've already ruined everything."

At night, she lay in bed feeling the weight of her own body pressing down on her. Her stomach stretched uncomfortably full from another late-night meal. Sometimes she promised herself that tomorrow would be different—that she would start fresh. But every morning, the cycle continued.

It wasn't until one afternoon, when Ava came into her room holding an old family album, that something shifted.

"Look, Lily!" Ava grinned, flipping through the pages. "I found this under Mom's bed."

Lily glanced at the album, barely interested. She had seen those pictures a hundred times before—her mother in her younger days, looking effortlessly beautiful, her father with his usual calm expression, and then pictures of herself, Matt, and Ava growing up. But as Ava turned to a page from a few years ago, Lily's stomach clenched.

It was a picture from before Ava was born, before Lily had truly started to gain weight. She was standing beside her mother, their arms wrapped around each other, smiling at the camera. She hadn't been skinny, but she had been smaller—noticeably smaller than her mother.

Ava giggled. "Mom looks just the same!" She traced a small finger over the picture. "But you look so different, Lily. You were almost like her size before!"

Lily swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "Yeah... I guess so."

She didn't realize how fast her heart was beating until Ava left the room. She stared at the picture, then at her reflection in the mirror. The thought formed before she could push it away.

Had she really grown bigger than her mom?

The idea latched onto her brain and refused to let go. It followed her as she paced around her room, as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone, as she tried to distract herself with music. She had avoided the scale for months, refusing to let numbers dictate how she felt. But now, she needed to know.

Heart pounding, she made her way to the bathroom. The scale sat in its usual spot, untouched and unnoticed for so long. She hesitated, staring at it like it was some forbidden object. Then, before she could change her mind, she stepped on.

The number flashed before her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. It didn't make sense. It couldn't be right. She stepped off and tried again, but the number remained the same. Higher than before. Higher than she had ever imagined.

Higher than her mother's weight.

Lily stumbled back, gripping the sink for support. The realization settled over her like a heavy blanket, suffocating. Her mother had given birth to three children. Her mother, who she had always assumed was bigger, heavier, more of an adult in every way, now weighed less than her.

A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to scream, to cry, to undo every reckless bite she had taken in the past few weeks. How had she let this happen? How had she convinced herself that she didn't care when, deep down, she did?

Her thoughts spiraled. Memories of her eating flashed in her mind—finishing Matt's leftover noodles, sneaking biscuits into her room, eating full plates of rice at night. The way her mother sometimes glanced at her plate during meals, the way clothes no longer fit right, the way her body felt heavier, sluggish. How had she ignored all the signs?

Her reflection in the mirror seemed to taunt her. She had let go, let herself spiral into this careless version of herself. She imagined what people would say if they found out she weighed more than her mother. The judgment, the whispers, the pity.

Shame clawed at her, wrapping around her chest so tightly she could barely breathe.

She had to do something.

She had to change.