The lonely where you slide below the radar screen, lonely where you’ve become pathetic, lonely where it’s better just to stay inside, hidden from civilization.

I don’t belong in civilization. I’m a misfit. A blight.

Well, maybe not a blight. But I definitely feel like a pimple on a chin. As you know, not a good way to feel.

Cautiously I shift my left leg, checking to see if the left thigh spreads as much as the right. It does. I suppress the rising panic. I’m in trouble, aren’t I?

I look up, meet Olivia’s eyes. “I am a little... big... ger.”

The light of battle shines in Olivia’s eyes. “It’s not the end of the world. Yet.” She sounds crisp now, decisive, as if we’ve settled on a plan, and she leans forward, urgency in her voice. “The key is to get a grip. Face whatever it is you’re avoiding.” She pauses, considers me. “Are you still in love with him?

Him? Him, who? And then I realize she’s talking about Jean-Marc. “Y—no. No!” I repeat more forcefully, because I’m not. How could I still be in love with a man who essentially rejected me on our honeymoon?

But Olivia isn’t convinced. “Do you need professional help? There’s no shame—”

“No.” God, this is so humiliating. Olivia could be my mother. My mother would handle a conversation this way. “I’m fine. I’m.... better. Getting better.” And bigger, according to Olivia. I squeeze out a smile. “But you’re right. I need to take charge. Join a gym.