My Bf Gave Me A 5-month Ultimatum To Lose Weight After My Dad Died. I Lost The Weight, But Rejected His Public Proposal In Front Of Everyone. Was I Wrong For Humiliating Him?”

My boyfriend refused to marry me after I got fat and told his friends that he couldn’t be tied to someone who let herself go. So I got rid of my weight and dumped him.

We met when I was 22. I weighed 120 lb. Justin wouldn’t shut up about how perfect I was.

“You’re like a model,”

he’d say.

“All my friends are jealous.”

He’d grab my waist in public, show me off like a trophy, and take photos from angles that made me look thinnest. He would post them with captions like “My girl’s a 10.”

I thought it was love. I was an idiot.

3 years in, I brought up marriage.

“We should wait,”

he said,

“till we’re more financially stable.”

Made sense. We were both still building careers. I was making 40,000 at a nonprofit; he was making 60 at his corporate job.

Year four, I mentioned it again.

“Maybe next year,”

he said.

“No rush, right? We’re basically married already.”

Except we weren’t.

His brother got engaged that year to his girlfriend of 18 months.

Justin said,

“They’re rushing into it.”

Year five, my dad died. Sudden heart attack at 53. I was destroyed.

Food became my only comfort. Mom’s casseroles every night, crying into pints of ice cream, stress eating through grief counseling. Depression made me exhausted. I stopped going to yoga. I stopped cooking healthy meals.

40 lb in 8 months. Size 4 to size 12. My clothes stopped fitting. I lived in sweatpants.

Justin noticed immediately.

“Babe, you’re getting a little thick.”

Then,

“You should hit the gym.”

Then,

“This is embarrassing for me.”

Then,

“My co-workers are asking what happened to you.”

I tried explaining about my dad, the depression, the grief counselor saying weight gain was normal during trauma.

“Everyone has problems,”

he said.

“My dad had cancer and I didn’t get fat. You’re just using grief as an excuse.”

He stopped touching me. Separate blankets in bed. No sex for months.

When I’d reach for him, he’d say he wasn’t in the mood.

“Maybe if you looked like you used to,”

he said once.

He started going out more, coming home late, always freshly showered, phone face down. Working late, but his car was spotted at bars downtown. I knew but didn’t want to know.

6 months ago, our sixth anniversary, I set up a romantic dinner. Candles, his favorite meal, a new dress that actually fit.