***
For days afterward, life glowed, slightly burnt pancakes for breakfast, and movie nights with our arms tangled together.
I’d catch him flexing his hands, lost in thought.
But about a week after the wedding, something changed.
***
Rowan started waking before me, closing the door to his office. He was distracted at dinner, his jokes half-hearted. He barely touched his guitar, which he usually played every night, something gentle and bluesy.
At first, I tried to let it go.
I’d catch him flexing his hands, lost in thought.
“It’s going to take a moment for us to adjust to this life,” I said to myself. “Maybe he just needs a little space.”
***
One night, I climbed into bed and reached for his hand. He flinched, like he’d been shocked.
“Sorry, Mik. I’m just really tired.”
But he was lying, I knew it in my bones. I knew the shape of my husband’s fatigue, and this wasn’t it.
***
A few days later, he started locking our bedroom door in the afternoons. Once, I knocked to ask if he wanted lunch, and he snapped. “I’m fine, Mikayla. Please, just… not now.”
If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that my husband never snapped at me. And he never locked doors.
“Maybe he just needs a little space.”
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