Sam

It was quiet in the living room except for the low hum of the fan. We were just sitting there on the couch, barely dressed — her in just a bra and panties, me in my boxers — not in a sexual way, just... comfortable. Intimate in that peaceful kind of silence only two people in love can share. Her head rested lightly against my shoulder for a while, and I thought everything was okay.

Then she pulled away slightly, eyes fixed downward, voice soft and unsure.

"I think I should get a breast reduction surgery..." she mumbled.

I blinked. My chest tightened instantly.

What?

I turned to her fast, eyes searching her face. She couldn’t even look at me. Her gaze was stuck on the floor, fingers nervously curling against her thighs.

“Please don’t,” I said, almost too quickly. My voice cracked a little — I didn’t mean for it to sound like I was begging. But maybe I was. “Please don’t.”

I shook my head, shifting so I could face her better, needing her to see that I meant it. God, she had no idea how beautiful she was to me. How many times I’d admired her, not just her body but all of her, the way she moved, the way she carried herself — even when she didn’t realize it. Especially then.

My chest ached. Does she really hate herself that much? What did I miss?

“You’re perfect,” I whispered, barely above a breath.