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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