Chapter One: The Weight of Success

I watched the sun rise over the eastern pastures from my bedroom window, painting the Texas sky in shades of pink and gold that would make a postcard jealous. My ranch, the Double K, stretched out as far as the eye could see—twenty thousand acres of prime grazing land, stocked with the finest Angus cattle money could buy. I owned it all. Every blade of grass, every fence post, every one of those black beauties dotting the hills.

But getting out of bed to appreciate it? That was getting harder every month.

I rolled onto my side, the custom-reinforced king-size frame creaking under my weight. Five hundred pounds, give or take. My belly spread across the mattress beside me, hanging heavy and low. I could feel it pressing against my thighs even lying down. Getting vertical was going to take some effort.

“Mr. Brennan?” Rosa’s voice drifted up from downstairs, accompanied by the smell of bacon, eggs, and fresh biscuits. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are!”

“Be down in twenty, Rosa!” I called back, already winded from projecting my voice.

I grabbed the overhead bar I’d had installed above the bed—looked like something from a hospital, and hell, maybe it was—and used it to pull myself into a sitting position. My legs, thick as tree trunks and pressed tight together, barely wanted to cooperate. I sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, catching my breath, feeling my belly settle into my lap and drape down over my knees. It hung past mid-thigh these days, a constant weight I carried everywhere.

The waddle to the bathroom took concentration. My legs had to swing wide with each step, my thighs rubbing together despite the special powder I used. My belly swayed with each movement, and I had to lean back slightly to counterbalance the weight. Fifteen feet felt like a mile some mornings.

But I made it. I always made it.

The shower was already running—Carlos had turned it on remotely—and I used the grab bars to steady myself as I stepped in. Another set of accommodations. My whole life was accommodations now.

Forty minutes later, I was dressed in my custom-made jeans and one of my XXXL work shirts, breathing hard, and making my way down the stairs. One step at a time, both hands on the reinforced railing, my belly bouncing with each descent. I could hear Rosa moving around in the breakfast room, getting everything ready.

“Morning, Rosa,” I said, lowering myself carefully into my reinforced armchair. The relief of sitting after that journey down the stairs was immediate.

“Good morning, Mr. Brennan.” She set down a platter that could feed a work crew. Bacon, sausage, eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, and a stack of pancakes on the side. “Miguel called. He’ll be here at nine to go over the feed orders. And you have a conference call with the bank at ten-thirty about the expansion loan.”

I checked my watch while forking eggs into my mouth. Seven-fifteen. Plenty of time.

“Perfect. And Rosa, can you make sure there’s coffee and those cinnamon rolls ready for when Miguel gets here? Man loves your cinnamon rolls.”

“Already made, Mr. Brennan. They’re warming now.”

I ate steadily, methodically, while scrolling through emails on my tablet. The Double K might run itself operationally, but the business side kept me busy. Contracts to review, market reports to read, investment opportunities to evaluate. I might not be able to ride the ranch anymore, but my mind was sharp as ever.

By the time Miguel arrived at nine, I’d finished breakfast and moved to my office—another journey that left me winded. My office chair was oversized, the doorways in my house widened last year to accommodate my width. Miguel found me behind my desk, fresh coffee and a cinnamon roll already in hand.

“Morning, boss,” Miguel said, hat in hand. He’d been with the Double K for fifteen years, knew the operation inside and out. “Got those feed numbers you wanted.”

We spent an hour going over operations. I ate two more cinnamon rolls while we talked, washing them down with coffee. Miguel never commented, just spread his papers across my desk and walked me through everything. The Double K was thriving—cattle prices were up, our breeding program was producing premium stock, and the new pasture rotation system was exceeding projections.

“You’re doing excellent work, Miguel,” I said, reaching for a third cinnamon roll. “Give the boys a bonus this month. They’ve earned it.”

After Miguel left, I had thirty minutes before the bank call. Rosa appeared with a snack—fresh cookies and milk. “Thought you might want something to hold you over until lunch,” she said.

“You read my mind, Rosa.”

The bank call went well. They approved the expansion loan—when you’re a Brennan, banks tend to say yes. But it still required an hour of discussion, review of financial projections, and negotiations on terms. I munched on cookies the whole time, the crumbs falling onto my belly, which served as a convenient shelf when I was seated.

By noon, I was hungry again. Rosa had prepared a lunch spread in the breakfast room—pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, mac and cheese, and cornbread. Jennifer, my accountant, joined me to review quarterly taxes and some investment opportunities.

“Kyle, these numbers are incredible,” Jennifer said, glasses perched on her nose as she reviewed documents. “The ranch is up eighteen percent from last year, and your stock portfolio is performing above projections.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” I said, working on my third sandwich. “What about that commercial property in Austin?”

We talked business while I ate, Jennifer’s laptop open beside her mostly untouched plate while I cleared mine and reached for more. She updated me on all my holdings, walked me through some tax strategies, and discussed potential investments. My mind never stopped working, even as my mouth stayed busy.

The afternoon brought more calls, more emails, more decisions. The Double K wasn’t just a ranch—it was an empire, and empires required constant attention. I handled a dispute with a supplier, negotiated a contract for a cattle sale, and reviewed architectural plans for a new barn Miguel wanted to build.

Around three, Rosa brought afternoon snacks. A plate of nachos, some quesadillas, and fresh salsa. “Thought you might be getting hungry,” she said.

She wasn’t wrong. I devoured the nachos while reviewing market reports, cheese sauce dripping onto my shirt—another casualty of eating at my desk with my belly making it hard to reach the plate properly.

By five, Carlos came in to help me up from my office chair—something I needed more and more lately. The day of sitting had made my legs stiff, and my belly felt heavier than usual. He offered his arm, and I used the desk to push myself up, grunting with effort. The walk to the dining room for dinner felt longer than usual, my thighs burning from the friction, my belly swaying heavily with each labored step.

Dinner was pot roast with all the fixings. Rosa had outdone herself, and I did justice to the meal—three full plates, plus dessert. Apple pie with ice cream, two generous slices.

By eight o’clock, I was back in my recliner in the den—another custom piece, extra wide, with a motor to help me stand up. I had evening emails to handle, a few more calls with business contacts in different time zones. Rosa brought evening snacks around nine—cheese and crackers, some deli meat, a few cookies.

I worked until almost midnight, my mind sharp even as my body felt anchored to the chair. The Double K had grossed over four million this year. My investments were solid. I’d made three major business decisions today that would impact the ranch for years to come.

But when Carlos came to help me up from the recliner and I made that long, waddling journey back to my bedroom, leaning on his arm, my belly hanging heavy and low, my legs barely able to support me after a day of sitting and eating, I couldn’t help but wonder.

I’d built an empire. I’d achieved everything my daddy had hoped I would and more.

So why did climbing into bed feel like my biggest accomplishment of the day?

I lay back, my belly spreading across my chest and sides, and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow would be the same. More business, more food, more success, more weight.

The Double K was thriving.

I just wasn’t sure if I was.