I was always the “fat girlfriend” until my boyfriend dumped me for my best friend—and six months later, on the day they were supposed to get married, I found out just how wrong he’d been about me. I was the “fat girlfriend” my ex dumped for my best friend—then on their wedding day, his mom called me and said, “You do NOT want to miss this.”
I’m Larkin, 28F, and I’ve always been “the big girl.”
Not cute-thick. Just… big.
The one relatives corner at Thanksgiving to whisper about sugar. The one strangers tell, “You’d be so pretty if you lost a little weight.”
So I learned to be easy to love. Funny, helpful, reliable.
The friend who shows up early to help set up, stays late to clean, remembers everyone’s coffee order. If I couldn’t be the prettiest, I’d be the most useful. That’s who Sayer (31M) met at trivia night.
He was with coworkers; I was with my friend Abby (27F). My team won, he joked about me “carrying the table,” I roasted his carefully groomed beard. He asked for my number before the night ended.
He texted me first. “You’re refreshing,” he wrote. “You’re not like other girls.
You’re real.”
Red flag in hindsight. At the time, I melted. We dated almost three years.
Shared Netflix accounts, weekends away, toothbrushes in each other’s places. We talked about moving in together, about maybe getting a dog, about “someday” kids. My best friend Maren (28F) was part of that life.
We’d been friends since college. She’s tiny, blonde, naturally thin in a “I forgot to eat today” way that makes people roll their eyes and love her anyway. She held my hand at my dad’s funeral.
She spent nights on my couch when my anxiety was bad. She used to tell me, “You deserve someone who never makes you feel like a backup.”
Six months ago, that same girl was in my bed with my boyfriend. Literally.
I was at work when my iPad lit up with a shared photo notification. Sayer and I had synced devices because we were cute and stupid. I tapped it without thinking.
It was my bedroom. My gray comforter. My yellow throw pillow.
Sayer and Maren in the middle of it. Shirtless. Laughing.
His hand on her hip. Her hair on my pillow. For a second, my brain tried to convince me it was old or fake.
Then my stomach flipped. “I have to go,” I told Abby, grabbing my bag. “Are you okay?” she asked.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
TAP → NEXT PAGE → 👇
