A Mother’s Shape

Chapter 1

Talia sat cross-legged on her couch, cradling a microwaved cupcake in one hand and her phone in the other, swiping through photo after photo of smiling families. Happy Mother’s Day! read the captions—posts adorned with babies in matching pajamas, handmade cards scrawled in crayon, and husbands beaming behind brunch spreads.

She sighed, flicking her thumb across the screen until it dimmed. The only sound in the apartment was the low hum of her fridge and the soft thump of her heart echoing in the quiet.

“This is pathetic,” she muttered, holding up the single candle she’d wedged into the cupcake. “But… maybe just one silly wish.”

She took a deep breath.

“I wish I could fast forward to the part where I’m a mom.”

She blew out the candle. The room went dim. For a moment, she thought she saw something flicker—like the air rippling, just for a second—but she blinked and it was gone.

Sleep came quickly after that, heavier than usual, thick and dreamless.

⸻

Talia awoke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains. The sheets beneath her were softer, thicker, and the mattress seemed much larger. Disoriented, she sat up—then gasped.

This wasn’t her room.

The headboard was cushioned. The nightstand held a wedding photo—her in a soft, ivory dress, smiling up at a tall man with kind eyes. Framed finger-paintings decorated the walls. A baby monitor crackled nearby.

Talia looked down.

Her body… was different.

Her pajama top, a loose-fitting tee, now clung snugly to fuller breasts and a rounder belly. Her hips spread wide beneath the sheets. Her thighs rubbed softly together when she swung her legs out of bed. She shuffled to the mirror—and froze.

The face that stared back was hers, but subtly older. Fuller cheeks. A faint softness beneath her jaw. Her hair, a bit longer, a bit more lived-in. Her belly—definitely new—poked gently from beneath the hem of the shirt, smooth and plush, resting against the waistband of roomy pajama shorts.

She brought a hand to her face. “What the hell…”

A shout broke the silence.

“Mama!!”

Before she could react, a tiny hurricane of curls and giggles barreled into the room. A toddler—maybe three—latched onto her leg, squealing with delight. “Mama, I woke up! Can we have pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” she croaked.

Footsteps followed. A man, shirtless and sleepy-eyed, leaned on the doorway. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the batter going. Thought I’d let you sleep in—Mother’s Day and all.”

He walked over and kissed her cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Happy Mother’s Day, babe.”

⸻

The day passed like a dream.

Talia learned her daughter’s name was Sophie. Her husband—Eli—was warm, funny, and clearly adored her. Her phone held years of photos she didn’t remember taking. She even found a scribbled grocery list on the fridge, her handwriting slightly rounder but still recognizable:
“Whole milk, birthday candles, snacks for Sophie, ice cream (just because!)”

Her body moved differently now. Her thighs brushed with each step. Her belly jiggled softly when she laughed. Sitting down, she felt the weight settle—on her hips, her arms, even her face. Her clothes stretched just a little too tightly, molded to her fuller form. She caught glimpses of herself in reflections—cooking at the stove, curled on the couch, wrestling with Sophie—and every time, she was softer, heavier… but glowing.

At dinner, she laughed so hard at one of Eli’s jokes she nearly knocked over her wine glass. She felt the press of her belly against the table. There was no sucking it in. No guilt. Just… life. A full one.

Later that night, after Sophie was tucked in, Talia wandered into the kitchen. A half-eaten cake sat on the counter. Without thinking, she grabbed a fork and scooped a bite straight from the frosting-heavy edge.

She caught sight of her reflection in the oven door.

There she stood—round-bellied, pajama shirt rising above her navel, stretch marks gently visible in the warm kitchen light. Her belly bowed outward, full and soft, hips wide enough to fill the frame.

She looked content. Tired, but happy.

“I really did it,” she whispered. “I really became her.”

She took another bite of cake. Then another. The house was quiet. She could hear Eli cleaning up the toys in the living room, humming under his breath. Tomorrow, there would be more chaos. More giggles. More laundry. More food.

And her body, her life—soft, stretched, heavier than she remembered—wasn’t something to wish away anymore.

It was exactly what she’d wanted.