The bathroom light was merciless.
It hummed faintly above Naomi's head, washing her reflection in an unkind white glare that highlighted every pore, every shadow under her eyes, and—most of all—the soft swell of her stomach pressing against the waistband of her skirt.
She stared at herself for a long time, her hands resting on the cool porcelain sink. The blouse she'd chosen that morning was a delicate cream, the kind that looked effortless on mannequins in shop windows. On her, it clung in ways she didn't intend, pulling slightly at the buttons when she moved. She tugged it down, smoothed it out, but the fabric seemed to have its own opinion about how it would sit on her body.
Her gaze dropped to the scale in the corner. She had stepped on it just fifteen minutes earlier, before her shower. It had blinked up a number two pounds heavier than last week, and now that number sat in her mind like an unwelcome guest she couldn't get rid of. She had weighed herself three times, just to be sure. The number hadn't changed.
A sigh escaped her lips. Why can't I just get it together? The thought came with a familiar wave of shame, one she had known since she was twelve and overheard a boy in school whisper "chubby" as she walked past. That single word had stuck to her skin like glue. Years later, it was still there.
She turned away from the mirror, but the reflection followed her in her mind. The gentle slope of her belly. The roundness in her face that no contouring trick could hide. The faint marks on her upper arms from years of tugging at sleeves. She felt a sharp stab of envy for women who could throw on a sundress without worrying how they looked from behind.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the spell. She glanced at the screen: Reminder – Wonderfully Made Women's Group, 6:30 PM, Church Hall. She'd signed up for it after an invitation from a coworker she barely knew—mostly because she hadn't had the heart to say no. The group description had said something about "identity in Christ" and "learning to love the person God created." It had sounded… nice. But the thought of walking into a room of strangers made her chest tighten.
Naomi checked the time. If she left now, she could make it. But she already had an arsenal of excuses ready: too tired, too busy, not in the mood. She didn't want to sit in a circle of cheerful women who all looked like they had their lives together while she silently compared herself to each one.
The decision to stay home felt almost final—until she found herself, at 5:45 PM, standing in front of her closet again. Her hand hovered over a loose cardigan, the kind that covered everything. She slipped it on, grabbed her keys, and muttered to herself, "Just go. You can leave if it's weird."
On the way out, she caught her reflection one last time in the hallway mirror. The woman looking back at her seemed unsure, a little tired, but… maybe not hopeless. Naomi held her gaze for a second longer than usual. Then she turned away, locked the door, and stepped into the evening air.