She looked away, fiddling with her necklace. "I'm just afraid you haven't thought all this through properly."
But I had done it.
I thought about Rowan every night, and how he made my world bigger, not smaller. Never with pity, always with curiosity and kindness.
One evening before the wedding, Rowan caught me tracing the edge of my veil in the bedroom.
"Have you changed your mind?" he teased as he approached me.
"I want to get married, Mom."
I shook my head and smiled. "No, unless you've decided to leave the toothpaste cap on forever."
He held out his hand to me and laughed.
***
The wedding day was a beautiful blur, lace, nerves, and rain on the church steps. I caught Rowan's eye at the end of the aisle and instantly relaxed.
His medals shone against his uniform, but his smile was entirely for me.
At the altar, he rolled over to my side and took my hands.
The officiant smiled at both of us. "Rowan, you can stand up now, if you wish!"
His medals shone against his uniform.
Everyone laughed, including Rowan. He squeezed my hand until my fingers tingled. "I'm fine here," he said, winking.
Our vows were messy and honest. Rowan promised coffee every morning. I promised to love him fiercely, and he whispered, "You already do."
I caught Mom watching.
Rowan raised his glass of cider. "To new beginnings, Mik," he said, looking me straight in the eyes.
We had decided to postpone our wedding reception a little. I didn't want Rowan to overdo it, and I was nervous about mentioning the first dance.
I caught Mom watching
***
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In the days that followed, life shone brightly, with slightly burnt pancakes for breakfast, and movie nights with our arms tangled together.
I caught him flexing his hands, lost in thought.
But about a week after the wedding, something changed.
***
Rowan started waking up before me, closing his office door. He was distracted during dinner, his jokes lukewarm. He barely touched his guitar, which he usually played every night, something soft and bluesy.
At first, I tried to let it go.
But about a week after the wedding, something changed.
"It's going to take us a while to adjust to this life," I thought to myself. "Maybe he just needs a little space."
***
One evening, I climbed into bed and held out my hand to him. He flinched, as if he had been shocked.
"Sorry, Mik. I'm just very tired."
But he was lying, I knew it deep down. I knew the form my husband's fatigue took, and this wasn't it.
***
A few days later, he started locking our bedroom door in the afternoon. Once, I knocked to ask if he wanted lunch, and he broke down. "I'm fine, Mikayla. Please, just... not now."
If there's one thing I was sure of, it's that my husband never yelled at me. And he never locked the doors.
"Maybe he just needs a little space."
I began to wonder if he regretted marrying me. If my mother was right, and if all of this was too much for him.
My own doubt crept in, a whisper that grew louder day by day.
***
One afternoon, my phone rang. My mother's name appeared on the screen.
"I made too much ziti in the oven. Do you want me to come by and bring some more?"
I hesitated, looking at the clock. "Of course, Mum. That would be nice. Rowan should be home too."
She seemed pleased. "Good. I'll also bring the cookies you like."
Mom's name appeared on the screen.
That day, I left work early and went home. The apartment was quiet, no music, no television, not even the sound of Rowan's wheels sliding on the parquet floor. I put the groceries on the counter and listened.
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