PART THREE — A HOME WITHOUT REFLECTIONS
The first sign that something was wrong appeared before I even stepped inside.
As Daniel guided me from the car, I noticed the curtains in the living room were open. Through the window, the room looked strangely unfinished, as though someone had packed in a hurry.
He opened my door and reached for me. “Slowly.”
“I’m sore, not breakable,” I murmured.
“I know.” Still, he placed an arm around my shoulders and kept it there all the way to the front door.
The moment we entered, I stopped.
The large mirror above the fireplace was missing. Two metal hooks remained in the wall, bare and awkward.
I stared at the empty space. “Did you take that down?”
Daniel did not answer.
I looked toward the hallway. The narrow mirror that usually reflected the staircase was gone too.
A cold uneasiness began to gather inside me.
I walked toward the bathroom. The mirror above the sink had been removed. Even the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet was gone.
My pace quickened as I moved to the bedroom. The full-length mirror I had owned since college had vanished. On my dresser, the jewelry box with the glass lid had been replaced by a plain wooden one. When I pulled open the closet, I found white sheets taped carefully across the mirrored sliding doors.
Every reflective surface had either been removed or hidden.
I turned around.
Daniel stood in the doorway with his shoulders rigid and his face drained of color.
“Where are the mirrors?” I asked.
He looked at the floor. “I couldn’t leave them up.”
“Why not?”
His mouth opened, but no answer came.
I touched the bandages around my face. “The doctor already warned me about the swelling.”
“This isn’t about swelling.”
His voice broke on the final word.
My chest tightened. “Then what is it about?”
Daniel’s hands were trembling. I had seen him worried before. I had seen him tired, frustrated, and grieving. But I had never seen fear move through him like this.
“You can’t look at yourself yet,” he said.
A nervous laugh escaped me. “What does that mean?”
He took one step forward. Tears gathered in his eyes.
“I couldn’t let you go through it,” he whispered.
The room seemed to tilt beneath me.
Without thinking, I reached toward the edge of my bandages.
“No.” Daniel’s voice was sharp enough to make me freeze. He rushed toward me. “Please, Cora. Don’t.”
His panic turned my fear into certainty.
“Something happened,” I said. “Something went wrong.”
“No.”
“You told me I didn’t need the surgery.”
“I told you that you were already beautiful.”
Tears slipped beneath the bandages and stung my skin. “And you were right. I ruined my face.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
“Then why did you remove every mirror in the house?”
He said nothing.
In that silence, my imagination built its own answer. I pictured the surgeon hiding the truth. I pictured nurses smiling at me because they felt sorry for me. I imagined Daniel seeing whatever lay beneath the bandages and realizing that the face I had spent years trying to fix had become even harder to look at.
My knees weakened.
Daniel caught me before I hit the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, holding me tightly.
I pressed my face against his chest and broke apart. “I just didn’t want to feel ugly anymore.”
His arms closed around me. “You never were.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
He shut his eyes. “I don’t know how.”
Before I could demand an answer, three hard knocks struck the front door.
