I nodded.
“My back hurts every day. This isn’t about looks. It’s about living without pain.”
He reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“If that’s what you need, I support you.”
I remember how relieved I felt.
Most people immediately asked why I would ever want smaller br:easts.
Gerald asked how long I had been hurting.
That made me love him more.
Years passed.
We married, bought a comfortable little house, and combined our finances.
We both worked hard, and our savings slowly grew.
Whenever my back flared up, Gerald rubbed my shoulders while we watched television.
Whenever I complained about clothes, he reminded me that eventually I would get the surgery.
“You’ve waited this long,” he would say. “You’ll get there.”
I believed him.
During our second year of marriage, I finally booked a consultation.
The surgeon examined me, reviewed my medical history, and asked detailed questions about the pain.
At the end of the appointment, he smiled.
“You’re an excellent candidate.”
I nearly cried.
That night, Gerald and I sat at the kitchen table with coffee, spreadsheets, and bank statements.
I pointed at our savings.
“I think we’re finally there.”
He studied the numbers, then nodded.
“We can afford it.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“It’ll cost about $5,000.”
“I know.”
I searched his expression.
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