Did You Check the Mirror?

Every night, Martin checked the doors. It was a ritual he’d had since marrying

Elise: front door, back door, windows, then the bedroom. Elise would already

be in bed, facing the wall, her breathing slow and even. She never turned

over while he checked. Never spoke. Martin found that comforting. One night,

the hallway mirror was fogged. Martin stopped. The house was cold, the heater broken

for weeks. He wiped the glass with his sleeve. A handprint remained on the inside of

the mirror, pressed from behind the glass. He laughed it off. Old house.

Old pipes. Old nerves. When he slipped into bed, Elise reached back