I never thought I’d see the day when Wednesday Addams waddled.

But here she is—her once-skeletal frame now buried under hundreds of pounds of soft, jiggling flesh. Her belly leads the way, a massive overhang that sways with each labored step. Enid’s no different. The girl who used to bounce through the halls now moves like a glacier, her legs thick and dimpled, her arms spilling over the scooter’s handles.

They’re laughing. Actually laughing. As if this—this grotesque transformation—is some kind of victory.

I’ve got the camera rolling. The footage is gold. Enid’s trying to eat a giant pretzel, her sausage-like fingers fumbling with the twist. Wednesday’s watching her, a rare smile on her now-rounded face.

'You’re adorable when you’re messy,' Wednesday says, voice deeper, slower.

Enid giggles, crumbs falling from her double chin. 'You’re just saying that because I’m your wife now.'

Wife. They got married last week. In a ceremony where neither could fit into traditional dresses. They wore stretchy black gowns, their bellies straining the fabric.

I zoom in. Their scooters are parked outside the cafeteria. Again. They’ve been here for hours.

What do I do?

Release the video and expose them?

Or delete it and pretend I never saw anything?