I woke up to discover my most intimate secret had been exposed in the group chat. It was calculated, cruel and devastating - and it all started because I cancelled dinner
I woke up to discover my most intimate secret had been exposed in the group chat. It was calculated, cruel and devastating - and it all started because I cancelled dinner
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I can still hear the ping of my phone, the sound of my entire social life imploding in real-time. One second, I'm waking from a deep sleep, blissfully unaware that my so-called best mate, Paige*, was out there lobbing nuclear-grade betrayal into our group chat. The next, my stomach wasn't just metaphorically in knots - it was tight, surgically reinforced, and the hottest topic of conversation amongst our friends.
![[She had not disclosed her tummy tuck to her wider friendship group (stock image)]](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2025/01/29/03/94623297-14336321-image-a-3_1738122607341.jpg)
'At least I didn't cheat my way to a flat stomach.'. That's what she wrote. That's what she threw out into the world like a flaming Molotov of spite, accompanied by screenshots of my private texts about my tummy tuck consultation and our chats about her helping me out with the kids while I recovered. Messages I had sent her in confidence. Just for her. Because I trusted her.
This was a full-blown social war that started over a missed dinner - yes, really. Paige and I had been tight since our university days. She was there through my first pregnancy, through my meltdown when I found out I was having twins on round two, through the long, sleepless nights when I felt like my body had been hijacked by little people who demanded everything and left me with nothing but stretch marks and a pelvic floor made of Swiss cheese.
She knew I had struggled with my body after the twins. She knew how hard I worked, how many godawful burpees I did, how many salads I choked down trying to fix what pregnancy had left behind. And she knew that no matter how many planks I held or how much protein powder I chugged, my diastasis recti - the brutal abdominal separation that left me with a permanent pooch - wasn't something I could exercise away.
