BENEATH THE MIRROR

The Vows we didn't plan

Elena had never seen someone react to news the way Adrian did when she told him about the pregnancy.

At first, there was a heartbeat of silence, his eyes locked on hers. She half-expected a barrage of questions Are you sure? How? When? But instead, a slow, almost reverent smile spread across his face.

“Then I guess it’s time we make this official,” he said, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms.

For a moment, she let herself sink into him. His coat smelled faintly of cedar and cold air, and the steadiness of his grip made the bathroom floor, the test in her hand, the pounding of her pulse all fade to the background.

“You’re not… upset?” she asked.

“Upset?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Elena, this is the best news I’ve ever heard. You and me, a family. What could be better?”

The days that followed blurred into a kind of dream.

Adrian was everywhere cooking her breakfast before she went to work, texting her reminders to eat, dropping by the bakery with soups and teas “for the baby.”

One night, as they sat on her couch watching the snow fall outside, he took her hand. “We should get married. Soon. The baby deserves a family from the start.”

Her heart thudded at the word married.

“I don’t know…” she began. “It’s so fast”

“Elena,” he said, his voice low and sure, “we already know we’re right for each other. This isn’t rushing. This is doing the right thing.”

It was the kind of conviction that left little room for argument.

The next morning, he had a ring. Not a flashy diamond, but a gold band with a small, square-cut stone that caught the light in quiet ways.

“I saw it, and I thought of you,” he said simply.

Her fingers trembled as he slid it on. It fit perfectly.

The wedding came together in weeks.

Adrian insisted on handling the arrangements. “You shouldn’t be stressing over flowers and seating charts right now. You focus on staying healthy for the baby.”

It was practical, even thoughtful except she noticed how her ideas seemed to evaporate in the process. She’d mentioned wanting a small bouquet of peonies; she walked into the ceremony holding white roses. She’d imagined wearing her hair loose; a stylist Adrian hired pinned it up into something elegant and unfamiliar.

Still, the day itself was beautiful in that storybook kind of way snow falling softly outside the windows of the courthouse, the warmth of family and a handful of friends. Maya cried through the vows.

When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Adrian kissed her like there was no one else in the room.

After the wedding, she moved into his apartment.

It was bigger than hers, with high ceilings and windows that looked out over the city skyline. But it wasn’t hers. His furniture, his art, his kitchen. He gave her one dresser in the bedroom, cleared a single shelf in the bathroom.

“Don’t worry,” he said when she hesitated over unpacking. “We’ll redecorate. Make it ours.”

He also took over the practical parts of life.

“I’ll handle the bills,” he said, waving off her offer to contribute. “You need to save your energy.”

When she suggested keeping her bank account active, he smiled like she’d made a joke. “You’re my wife now. What’s mine is yours.”

It sounded romantic. It also meant she had no idea what money was coming in or going out.

The pregnancy became his favourite topic and his excuse for everything.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet so much,” he said, insisting she cut her bakery shifts in half.

“You need more rest,” he said, taking over grocery shopping without asking.

“You should avoid stressful people,” he said, frowning when Maya dropped by unexpectedly one Saturday.

It was care, but it was also… control. And yet, every time she tried to name it, the thought felt disloyal.

By March, she was in her second trimester, the swell of her belly impossible to hide. Adrian hovered constantly, one hand always at the small of her back in public, as if guiding her.

At a dinner with his colleagues, she tried to tell a story about the bakery’s Easter rush, but Adrian cut in halfway through. “What she means is, it was a mess. Flour everywhere. I told her she should just stay home until after the baby.”

Laughter around the table. Elena smiled politely, feeling her cheeks warm.

At home, she brought it up. “I don’t need you to finish my stories for me.”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “I was just helping. You get flustered sometimes.”

“I wasn’t flustered.”

“Alright,” he said, but his tone carried the finality of someone who wasn’t inviting further debate.

Spring arrived, but it didn’t feel like freedom.

Adrian began managing her calendar doctor’s appointments, social visits, and errands often without asking. “I’ll drive you,” he’d say, even when she offered to take the bus.

One afternoon, she found him scrolling through her phone.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking for that bakery contact you mentioned. I thought I could help with suppliers.”

She took the phone back. “You could have asked.”

He smiled faintly. “We’re married, Elena. There’s nothing to hide.”

By May, she was starting to wonder if she’d been swept along by something faster than she could swim against. She still loved him or at least, she loved the way things had felt at the start. But more and more, she was aware of the way his presence filled every space in her life, leaving less and less room for her own.

One humid evening, she woke to find him standing at the bedroom window, staring out at the city.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

He didn’t turn around. “I was just thinking about everything. How lucky we are. How we’re going to be the kind of family everyone envies.”

The words should have been comforting. But something in his voice that quiet certainty made her shiver.

In late June, they had their first big public fight.

They were at the farmer’s market when Elena spotted Mrs. Porter, her elderly neighbour from her old building. She rushed over, hugging the woman, asking about her health.

When she returned to Adrian’s side, his jaw was tight.

“You shouldn’t be hugging strangers in this heat. You could get sick,” he said.

“She’s not a stranger. She’s my friend.”

“She’s not part of our life anymore, Elena.”

The words stung more than she wanted to admit.

That night, as she lay in bed, she felt the baby kick for the first time. She smiled, pressing Adrian’s hand to her stomach.

He grinned, eyes lighting up. “That’s my kid in there.”

The possessiveness in his tone was sharp enough to make her wonder and where does that leave me?

When July came, so did the heat, and with it, more restrictions: no long walks, no lifting grocery bags, no “overexerting herself” at the bakery.

“You’re the most important person in my life,” he told her one night, stroking her hair. “You and the baby. I’ll make sure nothing ever happens to either of you.”

It should have sounded like love. But lying there in the dark, Elena couldn’t shake the feeling that “nothing ever happens” might mean “nothing ever changes” at least, not on her terms.