The morning after the wedding, the city seemed quieter than usual, as if the world itself had paused to let Luke savor the glow of his new beginning. He woke to the faint sound of birds outside the window and the soft warmth of sunlight spilling across the sheets. For a moment, he simply lay there, eyes half-closed, letting the steady rhythm of her breathing beside him soothe the remnants of his nerves.
He turned his head, taking in the sight of her lying there in the morning light. The white sheets framed her form, her hair draped across the pillow like strands of silk. She looked peaceful, almost angelic, and Luke's chest swelled with something deeper than joy. Gratitude. Relief. The thought that he had finally reached the place he'd always dreamed of.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he whispered, "We made it."
She stirred, eyes fluttering open, and for an instant, she mirrored his smile. She reached up to touch his cheek, her fingers soft and cool, then leaned in to press her lips gently to his. The kiss was brief but carried the weight of promises spoken only hours ago.
Luke shifted onto his side, resting his head on his hand as he gazed at her. "I was thinking," he began, his voice quiet, "once everything settles down, maybe we could look for a house. Something small at first. A place that's ours."
Her expression flickered—so brief he barely noticed. "A house?"
"Yeah," Luke said, his eyes glowing with hope. "Somewhere with space. A garden, maybe. A place for kids one day. I know it won't be easy, but… I'll make it happen. I always do."
She smiled again, though this time it felt practiced, polished. "You always dream big, Luke."
He laughed softly, mistaking her coolness for teasing. "Someone has to. Otherwise, we'd still be stuck in that old apartment forever."
Her hand lingered on his chest, her nails tracing lightly over his skin. "As long as you're happy," she said, her voice smooth, careful.
Luke leaned in to kiss her again, missing the way her eyes slid briefly toward the clock on the wall, her thoughts already drifting elsewhere. To him, this was the start of a forever he'd fought tooth and nail to reach.
To her, it was another day in a plan she had long since set in motion.
The day unfolded in a haze of celebration. Friends and family filtered in and out, some bearing gifts wrapped in bright paper, others with envelopes stuffed with cards and money. Luke greeted them all warmly, his hand never straying far from hers. He wanted the world to see them together, bound and unbreakable.
By evening, when the last of the guests had gone and the apartment was filled with the faint scent of roses and leftover cake, Luke finally let himself collapse onto the couch. His bride joined him, slipping off her shoes with a sigh as she curled into his side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"This is it," he murmured, staring at the pile of gifts stacked against the wall. "The start of everything."
She tilted her head toward him, her lips brushing his jaw in a show of affection. "You really believe that, don't you?"
Luke chuckled softly, his thumb stroking her arm. "Of course I do. We've made it this far. I know life's been hard, but this… this is the turning point. No more just surviving. We're going to build something together."
Her smile was there, soft and convincing, but her eyes flickered with something unreadable. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and said nothing more.
Luke closed his eyes, letting exhaustion and contentment mingle. His mind drifted to dreams of the future: a small house with a garden, children laughing in the yard, her beside him through every moment. The vision brought a peace he hadn't felt in years.
But beneath the calm surface of the evening, cracks had already begun to form. Small things—her distracted gaze, the faint tension in her shoulders, the way her hand slipped from his when she thought he wasn't paying attention.
Luke didn't notice. He chose not to. Love, after all, had taught him to look past the shadows, to cling to the light even when it flickered.
For him, this was the dream he had chased through struggle and sacrifice.
For her, it was a mask she wore, hiding truths he wasn't ready to face.
The following week passed in a blur of small joys and simple routines. Luke returned to his shifts, shoulders lightened by the thought that every long hour now meant more for the life they were building. Each night he came home to her, and each morning he woke beside her, convinced that the world had finally given him peace.
One evening, he came through the door carrying takeout from the little restaurant down the street. The scent of fried food filled the apartment as he set the bags on the counter. "Thought we'd treat ourselves," he said, grinning. "First week as husband and wife deserves a little celebration, right?"
She looked up from her phone, her expression unreadable before it shifted into a smile. "Of course," she said smoothly, rising to help him.
They ate together on the couch, sharing bites and laughter. Luke talked about work, about saving up, about dreams of getting out of the cramped apartment and finding a real place they could call their own. She listened, nodding at the right times, offering small comments that kept the conversation alive.
When the food was gone and the dishes stacked in the sink, Luke leaned back with a sigh of contentment. "Feels like things are finally going our way," he said.
She curled against his side, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "You've worked hard for it. You deserve to be happy."
The words should have been comforting, but something in her tone felt distant, detached. Luke brushed it off, telling himself she was just tired. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her tighter.
Later that night, after he had fallen asleep, she slipped from the bed quietly. The glow of her phone screen lit her features as she typed a message, her lips curving faintly. A reply came almost instantly, and her smile deepened.
She slid back beneath the sheets before dawn, her body warm against Luke's. When his arm instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close, she closed her eyes and whispered, "I love you."
The words came easily, sweet on the surface, hollow underneath.
Luke, half-asleep, smiled and murmured back, never suspecting how close the knife already was.
Days turned into weeks, and Luke settled into the rhythm of married life with the kind of optimism only someone who had clawed through hardship could carry. Each morning, he woke early, pulling on his work clothes with the determination to make their life better. Each night, he came home with tired shoulders but a light heart, because no matter how hard the day had been, she was there waiting. Or so he thought.
At first, the changes were small. She smiled less often, her laughter coming later in conversations, softer, thinner. When Luke spoke of the future—of the house they would one day buy, the family they might raise—her eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite place. He mistook it for fatigue, the natural weight of adjusting to a new life. He wanted to believe it was nothing more.
One evening, as he was tightening a loose hinge on the kitchen cabinet, she leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching him.
"You work too hard," she said.
Luke wiped the sweat from his brow, grinning at her. "That's the point, isn't it? So you don't have to. So we can have something better."
Her lips curved, but the smile never reached her eyes. "You always think you can fix everything if you just work harder."
The words pricked, but Luke let them slide. He set down the screwdriver and crossed to her, cupping her cheek with a calloused hand. "That's what love is, isn't it? Doing whatever it takes?"
For a moment, her mask slipped. Something cold and sharp flickered in her gaze before she leaned into his touch, letting him believe in the illusion. "You're a good man, Luke," she said softly.
He kissed her then, clinging to the words as if they were a promise.
But later that night, while Luke lay asleep with his arm draped around her waist, she reached for her phone again. The glow of the screen lit her face as her fingers danced quickly across the keys. A message appeared.
He's still blind. Don't worry. It won't be long.
She typed her reply with a practiced ease, her lips curving into the faintest smile.
In his dreams, Luke saw only futures of hope. In her hands, she held the blade that would cut them away.