Reflection

“Come in,” he says, holding the door just enough to let her pass. “I have a present for you.”

The room is already prepared. Candles set low, their light gathered close to the table, leaving the walls to fade into shadow. He places the necklace in her hands without ceremony. The chain is cool, the strands slipping over her fingers as she lifts it, each red drop catching what little light there is and holding it there.

“Let me,” he says, stepping behind her as she moves to the mirror. His hands are steady at the clasp, precise in the way they bring the ends together. The weight settles across her collarbones, the strands falling into place one by one, each line finding its own path downward.

She watches in the glass as the necklace settles.

Her reflection shifts with it — shoulders lifting, the red drops coming to rest — but behind her, there is only the room.