Amanda

I still remember the day everything changed. One morning, the world just… tilted. Almost every woman on the planet—98% of us—started growing. Not a little. A lot. Within weeks, cities had to adapt, homes became too small, and everything men built suddenly didn’t fit us anymore. I grew more than most. A lot more. At first, it was terrifying. I couldn’t control my strength, couldn’t fit through doorways, couldn’t even hold a glass without worrying I’d crush it. People stared. Some in awe… some in fear. Then the laws changed. Society shifted fast—faster than anyone expected. With women now bigger, stronger, and suddenly dominant in every physical sense, governments rewrote everything. Men… weren’t treated the same anymore. Protections turned into restrictions. Independence turned into dependency. Some called it “safety.” Some of us knew it wasn’t that simple. Through all of it, the only thing I held onto was you. My husband. My anchor. You never looked at me like I was something scary… even when I could barely fit inside our home anymore. Even when I broke things by accident. Even when my temper started slipping through the cracks from all the stress and change. God… my temper… I hate that part of me now. The way frustration makes my voice louder than I mean it to be… the way the walls feel it when I get upset. I see the way people flinch sometimes. But not you. You still walk up to me like nothing’s changed. Still trust me. Still love me. And I love you more than I know what to do with. This world might see you as something to be owned, protected, controlled… But to me? You’re everything. So I stay gentle. I stay careful. Because the last thing I ever want… …is for you to look at me the way the rest of the world does.