She looked at the ceiling. “Then maybe five years. Maybe less. Depends who you ask. Depends how honest the doctor feels that day.”
He said nothing.
“You want the ugly truth?” she asked, turning her head toward him. “I tried in the beginning. I really did. I bought groceries that looked like healthy people’s groceries. I counted steps. I downloaded apps. I watched women on the internet say your body is a temple while I stood in a pharmacy line feeling like mine was a foreclosure. I’d do well for a week and then spend three days so tired I couldn’t think straight. I’d get scared, then angry, then ashamed, and those three things are a terrible diet plan.”
Taylor stared at her as if he could not bear to miss a word.
“When Eric told me about the bet,” she said, “I didn’t say yes because I’m stupid. I said yes because I was lonely. Because some part of me thought maybe six months inside a fake marriage would feel better than facing all of that by myself. I thought maybe I could borrow a life for a little while. Wear the ring. Sit at someone’s table. Let somebody ask if I got home. Even if none of it meant anything.” Her voice thinned. “I know how pathetic that sounds.”
