Doctor Made Me Fat

Chapter 1

Valerie and Nate were an attractive young couple, the kind people instinctively looked at twice.
Valerie had a delicate, almost sculpted face - high cheekbones, elegant features, smooth skin that caught the light, and striking green eyes framed by thick auburn hair. She was naturally slim, barely over 120 pounds, but her shape made her seem fuller than the number suggested: a generous C-cup bustline, a narrow waist, flaring hips, and a round, naturally plump butt that gave her a quiet, effortless sensuality.
Nate balanced her perfectly. His rugged good looks and athletic build carried an easy confidence. At 175 pounds and about 5'10", he had broad shoulders, defined abs, and strong arms that made him look like he belonged outdoors or in motion. Next to Valerie's softness, he read as solid, grounded, protective.
They had been married just a year, still close enough to remember the rush of their dating, the late night kisses, the urgency to make love without warning. But somewhere in the transition from engagement to married life, something had shifted. The passion that once came so naturally now surfaced only rarely, leaving both of them aware - quietly, privately - that something in their rhythm had changed.
The distance between them hadn't appeared all at once. It crept in quietly, almost politely, slipping into the spaces where their easy affection used to live. At first, neither of them said anything. They were newly married, settling into routines, learning each other's habits. A slow week or two felt normal enough.
But the weeks kept stretching. Valerie felt it most in the evenings. She would curl up beside Nate on the couch, hoping the familiar closeness would spark something, but he always seemed tired, distracted, or simply unaware of the subtle invitations she thought she was giving. He still held her, still kissed her goodnight, but the warmth that used to rise between them now felt muted, like a memory instead of a reflex.
Nate noticed the shift too, though he couldn't name it. He loved Valerie deeply - her laugh, her softness, the way she fit against him - but something in him hesitated now, a hesitation he didn't understand and didn't know how to talk about. He told himself it was stress, or work, or the adjustment to married life. But the unease lingered.
They both felt the absence, even if they tried to pretend otherwise.
Nights grew quieter. Touches grew shorter. Moments that once carried heat now passed with a polite, practiced affection that neither of them wanted but didn't know how to break through. They weren't fighting, not really. They were just... drifting. And the drifting scared them more than any argument could have.
After one particularly silent evening, Valerie finally admitted to herself that they couldn't keep ignoring it. Something was wrong - not catastrophic, not dramatic, but real. And if they didn't address it now, it would only grow harder to face.
Nate felt the same, though he struggled to say it out loud. He hated the idea of disappointing her, of failing her in ways he didn't fully understand. But he also knew they needed help, someone who could see what they couldn't.
The idea of seeing a therapist didn't come easily to either of them. For a while, they tried to solve things quietly on their own, hoping the distance would fade the same way it had appeared - slowly, almost imperceptibly. Valerie suggested more date nights. Nate tried to be more affectionate. They both made small efforts, gentle gestures meant to nudge their connection back into place.
But nothing quite worked. Some evenings ended with Valerie lying awake beside him, wondering if she had done something wrong. Other nights, Nate stared at the ceiling, frustrated with himself for not knowing how to bridge the gap. They still loved each other deeply - that was never in question - but love alone wasn't pulling them back into sync.
After a few weeks of circling the same quiet frustration, Valerie finally brought it up over breakfast. Her voice was soft, careful, as if she were afraid the wrong tone might make things worse. Nate listened, relieved she had said something but embarrassed that he hadn't found the courage to start the conversation himself. They talked for a long time - honestly, gently - and for the first time in months, they felt like they were on the same side of the problem instead of opposite ends of it.
That conversation didn't fix anything, but it opened a door.
Over the next few days, they discussed what to do. Books? Articles? Workshops? They tried searching online, but everything felt generic, impersonal, or too clinical for what they were facing. They needed someone who could actually see them - someone who wouldn't treat their marriage like a checklist.
That's when Valerie remembered hearing about a therapist who specialized in couples struggling with intimacy. Not just the physical side, but the emotional patterns underneath it. Someone who didn't rely on standard scripts or textbook advice.
Her name came back to her slowly, like a memory resurfacing: Dr. Miriam Weller.
Nate looked her up that night. The reviews were unusual - not just positive, but almost reverent. People described her as direct, intuitive, and unafraid to challenge couples in ways that felt uncomfortable but transformative. A few mentioned her "unconventional methods," though none of them explained exactly what that meant.
Valerie felt a flicker of hope. Nate felt a knot of nerves. But they both agreed on one thing: doing nothing wasn't an option anymore.
Desperate for a solution, they turned to Dr. Weller, a renowned sex therapist known for her unconventional methods.