You're so much more than right.

Being able to talk to your spouse honestly about issues affecting his health, your marriage, your job, your happiness and your finances isn't body shaming. It's being an adult, a companion, a partner in life. And if he's reacting badly to the conversation, then that level of defensiveness is a sure sign that it's time for counseling right now. She's literally sacrificing all of that because he's having a love affair with food right in front of her and she won't even talk to him about it.

But this woman could be my mom when I was just a kid, and the future isn't pretty. That snoring? He has sleep apnea and pretty soon she'll be sleeping next to Bane, wearing a mask and hearing the rhythmic, electronic sucking of the machine pushing breath past his fat neck. She can't sleep with the snoring? That CPAP's no treat either. My parents haven't slept in the same bed in 15 years.

The financial cost of food is just the tip of the iceberg. Ongoing health issues arise and you pay a lot, month after month, year after year. He may not lose his job, but his opportunities will diminish because that's what happens. He's already tired and sick, he's probably performing below his peers. He won't be the guy who gets promoted or gets the big raises, but everything will cost more. Big clothes, oversized chairs, repairs for things he's worn out or broken. It adds up. The amount of money not earned over a lifetime is unknowable, but potentially, exponentially enormous. The amounts spent just to pay the associated costs of morbid obesity are enormous anyway, and could have gone toward retirement, a better standard of living, investments or education for kids. Things that bring rewards and dividends.

And he'll change. Fat guys see others promoted ahead and become bitter. Their joints begin to ache and the gastro issues make them uncomfortable. The husband she loves will be fatter and sadder, more unpleasant, testy and resentful. It will be infuriating to hear him blame everyone else for his problems. He'll blame her sometimes too. He'll try to drag her into eating more, make fun of her healthy habits and even try to undermine them.

And there's the issue of companionship. Walks in the park? Nah. You'll do things by yourself or not do them. Vacations with him will be sedentary, not fun-filled. If you save up and take a huge anniversary trip to Europe, go ahead and book the senior citizen's tour because your husband isn't climbing the Eiffel Tower or exploring ruins on foot. But mostly, expect to do everything in your life alone. My mom did. Dance classes, art museums, concerts in the park, downtown holiday lights, parades. You miss out or you go alone because the fat guy is not doing it.

And then there's the practical stuff. He wants to sleep for 12 hours now? He's not much help around the house already. It's not fun to clean around him while he plays games. If you have kids that's even worse. You can clean up behind all of them while he makes only token efforts. He'll continue eating resources that rightfully should be saved for their future while teaching them bad habits that ensure their own futures look fairly dim too.

And in the end, you will resent him. If he does only a fraction of these things only part of the time, you will resent him. It will grow and fester. You'll feel bad about it, like you're rejecting him for being fat, like that's wrong somehow. But it's not. It's not the fatness itself. It's that the behavior surrounding it, the whole obese enchilada, is grotesque and harmful to him, to you and to your children. But once he's sick and maybe even crippled, so how do you leave at that point without being a monster? Are you a monster? Do you have to spend the rest of your life a slave to a fat man? There's no companion or husband, just a sweaty fat guy stiffly trudging through the house in his underwear, leaving messes for you to clean up while he farts in his chair and watches the food channel.

The kicker? You're in your forties or fifties when that happens. You're young enough to still have a life, except you're facing another decade or two of playing nursemaid to a fat guy who's draining your resources, growing old with little saved and nothing extra to spend on yourself. Your husband eats your money in food, then he eats the rest in medicine, doctors, clothes and equipment that he needs just so he can eat more food.

And at any point, he could have just eaten less food and given you your whole life back, but he wouldn't. You'd have done anything to help him or make that happen, except you couldn't say anything because that's body-shaming him. So instead you come home every day to clean up after the person who ate your hopes and dreams.