But Jessica wasn't finished.
She took her phone, opened one of my photos and held it for everyone to see.
“This is honestly embarrassing,” he laughed. “Imagine if people saw you online.”
Some family members gave nervous smiles.
Others watched their dishes in silence.
Then Jessica leaned back in her chair and added:
“Someone needed to tell you the truth.”
That sentence hurt more than I wanted anyone to know.
For years, I had welcomed Jessica into my family.
I had helped her financially when she and my son fought.
I had babysat when they needed me.
I had treated her like my own daughter.
And now I was humiliating myself in front of everyone because I dared to feel comfortable in my own body.
I could have screamed.
I could have insulted her.
I could have demanded that my son defend me.
Instead, I smiled.
Then I looked straight at Jessica and said quietly:
“You know what? Maybe you’re right.”
His mouth curled in a satisfied smile.
She thought she had won.
I had no idea what I meant.
Because that night, long after everyone went to bed, I sat alone on the balcony with my phone in my hand.
There was something I had been thinking about doing for months.
Something I kept postponing because I didn’t want to create problems in the family.
But after what happened at dinner, I finally stopped doubting.
I've made a decision.
Then I sent a message.
I didn't tell my son.
I didn't tell my sister.
And I definitely didn't tell Jessica.
