The Text in the Mirror
4 min read · Anonymous · Premium
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Marcus had started posting gym selfies again, and I told myself that was a good thing.
For most of our nine years together he had been the kind of man who treated the camera like an enemy. Then, sometime around his thirty-eighth birthday, he bought new lifting shoes, a sleeve of protein bags, and a membership at one of those twenty-four-hour places with the blue lighting and the rows of mirrors. He came home flushed and talkative. He stood a little straighter. I remember thinking, with the dull relief of a long marriage, that this was just a man deciding to grow old on his own terms.
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