Chapter 1

Cora had always lived with rules. Her mother’s rules. No sugar. No soda. No junk food, ever. At birthday parties she blew out candles on bowls of fruit. At school, she picked at plain salads while her friends traded cookies. She thought that once she turned eighteen, things would be different. But adulthood hadn’t changed much, not when she was still stuck in her mother’s house.
The only thing that had changed was Mark.
Her stepfather had been living with them for a few months now, and though he wasn’t cruel, Cora felt like she was constantly bristling in his presence. He was blunt, unbothered, the opposite of her mother’s anxious control. When her mom traveled for work weeks at a time, it left Cora alone with him. She hated the awkward silence. She hated how easily he made himself at home.
But most of all, she hated the pantry. Because now it was full.
Not of kale chips and rice cakes, but of everything she’d been denied her whole life. Chips, cookies, cereal covered in sugar, cartons of ice cream, pizzas stacked in the freezer. At first, she thought it was a joke. Her mom would have fainted if she’d seen it. But Mark just shrugged when she asked.
“I don’t cook,” he said simply. “So I buy what I like. Eat what you want.”
The first night, she tried to resist. But then, late in the kitchen, she caved. A bag of sour candy disappeared in minutes. The next day it was cupcakes. Then pizza rolls. By the end of the week, wrappers filled the trash, and Cora’s stomach rumbled in ways she couldn’t ignore.
What she didn’t know was that Mark had started pouring something into her drinks. Just a few drops, stirred into her soda when she wasn’t looking. Tasteless, invisible, but effective. Within an hour, her appetite roared back no matter how much she’d eaten.
At first she thought she was just hungry from stress. Then she told herself it was freedom, finally tasting what she’d been denied. But when she caught her reflection in the mirror, pulling at the waistband of her leggings, her stomach looked rounder. Softer. The fabric didn’t smooth over her hips like it used to.
She tugged at it nervously. Maybe it was the dryer.
But Mark noticed. His eyes lingered just a little too long when she bent over the counter. He smirked when she reached for seconds without realizing. He made sure the pantry was never empty, always restocked with something new to tempt her.
And every night, when she drained another soda without thinking, her hunger came back fiercer.
Cora hadn’t caught on yet. She only knew that her body felt heavier, her clothes tighter, her appetite insatiable. And Mark, watching quietly from the doorway, never told her why.
By the end of the second week, Cora was starting to feel… different.
She noticed it in little ways at first. The hem of her T-shirt riding higher than she remembered. The waistband of her leggings digging into her stomach when she sat down. The way her thighs seemed to press together more than before. She tugged at the fabric, annoyed, blaming the dryer, but the excuse didn’t hold up when it happened with every pair she owned.
Her appetite felt endless. She’d eat a full plate of pizza rolls and still find herself wandering back to the kitchen an hour later, spoon in hand, scraping at the bottom of an ice cream carton. Some nights she went to bed stuffed and aching, only to wake up ravenous again.
Maybe it’s stress, she told herself. Maybe it’s hormones. Anything but what it looked like in the mirror—the faint curve softening her stomach, the subtle roundness at her hips.
She didn’t want to think about it.
Mark didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say a word. He only laughed when she raided the pantry again, or asked if she wanted him to order extra when he called for takeout. She found herself saying yes without thinking, her body buzzing with hunger she couldn’t explain.
One night, she carried a soda back to her room, the fizz tickling her nose as she sipped. She drained it fast, the sugar hitting her bloodstream like a spark. Not twenty minutes later, her stomach growled again, low and insistent. She pressed a hand to her middle, surprised.
I just ate.
But the hunger sharpened until she was on her feet again, padding down the hallway toward the kitchen. Mark was still up, the glow of the TV spilling into the hall. As she reached into the pantry, she caught the sound of his chuckle, soft and knowing, drifting from the living room.
Cora frowned, cheeks burning, but said nothing. She ripped open another box of snacks and carried it back to her room, telling herself she’d start eating better once her mom came home.
Just for now, she thought, biting into the first sweet, sticky bite. Just until things went back to normal.
But somewhere deep down, she wasn’t sure what “normal” meant anymore.