Still a bit dazed from my conversation with Professor Coleman, I returned to my desk and noticed Adrian had sent me a friend request. From that moment, everything changed. Adrian, who was known as a distant, untouchable figure, showered me with a passionate pursuit. He orchestrated every romantic gesture women could imagine, doing everything he could to make me feel cherished. People were baffled to see us together. They wondered what it was about me that had Adrian’s attention so completely. When they saw my ordinary looks, they would shake their heads and murmur to each other, “She’s just average. What does Dr. Hardy see in her?”
But those who close to Adrian would say, “Your eyes are beautiful. They really do look a bit like…”
Like what? Or like who? Every time I asked, none of them gave a clear answer. They were either dodging the questions or simply changing the subject. Frustrated, I went directly to Adrian. But just like the other, he would simply cradle my face, gaze into my eyes and say, “Darling, believe me when I say you have the most beautiful pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re like jewels, precious treasure to me.”
I believed him and cherished those words. Little did I know, those very eyes and his words would one day bring me endless sorrow.
***
Adrian was always wonderful to me, so much so that I felt like I’d stumbled into a fairytale. Even my parents couldn’t believe my good fortune, calling it the luckiest break of my life. After half a year of dating, Adrian proposed and it felt only natural to say yes. At our wedding, he held me close and made a solemn vow to stay true forever.
His friends took turns toasting us and after a few glasses, I started noticing something odd. Their words, meant as well-wishes for us, sounded like they were referring to someone else entirely.
“Finally, Adrian’s dream has come true. Truly, heaven favors the devoted,” one said.
“He’s always had her in his heart,” another added. “He couldn’t escape it, apparently.”
“It must be fate, finding someone just like her. He really went through a lot,” one of his old classmates added with a knowing smile.
Their words planted seeds of doubt in my mind and I racked my brain for any female acquaintance of Adrian’s who fit the description. But I couldn’t think of anyone he was close with, much less someone who looked like me. My grip on my wine glass tightened as unease crept over me. I tried to shake it off, reasoning that I’d read too many novels about stand-ins and was just overthinking things.
As the night wore on, we approached the moment for our vows. But right before Adrian could make his, his phone buzzed. He stepped away from the stage, a frown of worry etched across his face. Minutes turned to what felt like hours as I stood there alone, uncertainty gnawing at me. The guests started murmuring, exchanging puzzled glances. Only later did I find out that, Adrian’s mentor and his family had been in a serious car accident on their way to our wedding. Unfortunately, none of the passenger survived.
When Adrian came back, his eyes were red and he barely got out a word of his prepared vows. That very night, he booked a flight and left the country, leaving me to face the aftermath of the wedding alone.
Feeling restless, I wandered into his study and leafed through his belongings, eventually finding a faded photograph tucked into a thick textbook in German. It was clear from the wear that it had been handled countless times. In the photo, a beautiful young woman beamed as she hugged Adrian, both of them radiating happiness.
On the back of the photo were the words, “Adrian and Lorie, seventh year together. Oakwide Park.” The name Lorie was circled and next to it was the word “beloved.”
My heart skipped a beat. I stared at that photo, unable to shake the feeling of inadequacy. I was nothing like this girl, not her brightness nor her elegance. She was dazzling, like sunlight at noon; next to her, I felt like a dim star. That night, sleep eluded me. I dialed Adrian’s number again and again, but he never picked up.
For an entire week, Adrian didn’t respond to a single one of my hundred messages. My heart pounded with worry—I feared something terrible might have happened to him abroad. I reached out to his friends, but none of them knew where he was either.
Three days later, just as I was preparing to fly overseas to look for him, he returned. He was a shadow of himself, looking gaunt and haunted. I wanted to ask him about the photograph, but his face was blank and hollow. He locked himself in his study, downing glass after glass of liquor.
I called his name from outside the door, my voice soft yet persistent. Suddenly, he cried out, “Lorie, where are you? Please come back! Don’t leave me, Lorie. I miss you.”
I kept responding from the other side of the door, hoping to reach him. Eventually, he passed out. I let myself in with a spare key, only to find him clutching that faded photo tightly in his hand. I placed a blanket over him and quietly slipped out, leaving him to his dreams.
Later that night, I searched for information about Adrian’s classmates from his college era but found no clues. Trying to shake off my suspicions, I convinced myself it was just post-wedding jitters, too afraid to confront the possibility that Adrian might not love me as I thought.
The next morning, Adrian was up early, cleaning up his study and preparing breakfast for me. Gently, he woke me with a kiss on my eyes. Wrapped in his warmth and affection, my unease melted away and I decided not to press him about the woman in the photo. After that, Adrian’s love for me seemed to grow deeper—or rather, his love for my eyes.
***
Adrian’s fascination with my eyes gradually morphed into an obsession. He took endless close-up photos, crafted countless sketches and portraits and even molded wax sculptures that captured their essence. In an almost surreal display of devotion, he went as far as to purchase an extensive insurance policy specifically for my eyes.
Every morning, his first task was to apply a specialized eye cream for me, a ritual that felt both tender and intimate. In the evenings, he would concoct soups and herbal broths, each recipe meticulously focused on maintaining my eye health. At the time, I didn’t find anything strange about his behavior; I saw it as his unique way of expressing love.
Two weeks after our wedding, while the sun set behind the hills, casting a warm glow in our cozy living room, Adrian took my hands in his. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and hope as he said, “Lorie, let’s have a baby. I’d love a daughter—a little girl who would stare at me, sulking with eyes just like yours.”
I felt my cheeks flush at the thought, my heart swelling with joy at the idea of having a child with Adrian. “Yes, I would love that,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, thrilled at the prospect of our future family.
During our time trying to conceive, Adrian suggested we begin a special tradition together, a personal ritual meant to strengthen our bond. One magical evening, he led me to a secluded spot in the countryside, where the stars sparkled like diamonds against the dark velvet sky. Standing hand in hand, he spoke with a sincerity that made my heart flutter.
Adrian placed a delicate silk ribbon in my hands and wrapped another around his own, binding them loosely. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, his voice gentle yet firm. “Let’s make a wish for our future together, for the child we’ll have—a daughter with your beautiful eyes.”
Together, we whispered our hopes and dreams into the night, letting the stillness around us carry our wishes into the universe. When we finished, Adrian carefully tied the two ribbons to the branches of a nearby tree, creating a tangible symbol of our shared desires.
Afterward, he surprised me by taking me to see a renowned oracle known for her insights. To my amazement, she declared that my husband’s wish would indeed come true. Adrian was ecstatic, his joy infectious. On the way home, he showered me with kisses, calling me sweet names and praising the beauty of my eyes with every breath.
Throughout my pregnancy, Adrian was my unwavering support. No matter how packed his schedule was, he prioritized taking me to every check-up, always holding my hand tightly during those moments of anticipation. At our four-dimensional ultrasound, his eyes lit up as he pointed excitedly to the screen. “Lorie, look! Our baby will have your eyes—they’ll be so beautiful, just like yours.”
The doctor, observing our joy, chuckled, “I’ve never seen you this excited, Dr. Hardy. You’re going to make a wonderful father.”
After the scan, Adrian lingered in conversation with the doctor, his excitement palpable. When he finally returned to my side, he enveloped me in a tight embrace, his voice trembling with exhilaration. “Lorie, it’s a girl! We’re going to have a daughter. My wish is coming true!”
During the labor, Adrian waited outside, anxious but hopeful, as they only allowed him to come in after I had delivered. Exhausted from the lengthy process, I longed for a warm welcome and a tender kiss when I heard the door finally open.
To my surprise, Adrian rushed toward the baby without even glancing in my direction. I thought he couldn’t wait to see our adorable child, or perhaps he was anxious about any health issues our baby might have. After all, it didn’t feel right to be jealous of my own baby, did it?
However, his expression shifted to one of confusion and distress. It was only when he began arguing with the nurse that I sensed something was terribly wrong. “Why is it a boy?” he demanded, his voice rising with panic. “It was supposed to be a girl! What have you done? Where’s my daughter?” The usually composed Adrian had lost his cool, shaking the nurse who was cradling our newborn. His loud questioning startled me, sending a ripple of fear through the room.
In the midst of the chaos, my mother-in-law intervened, stepping forward and slapping him across the face. It seemed to bring him back to reality, calming him down a bit, though I could see the turmoil still churning within him.
That night, Adrian disappeared. He didn’t visit me again during my entire stay at the hospital. When we finally returned home, the first thing that hit me was the overwhelming stench of alcohol wafting from his study. Adrian had clearly been drinking heavily and the sight broke my heart.
Adrian’s mother, usually so composed, stormed into his study and locked the door behind her. Through the thin walls, I could hear snippets of their argument, his voice laced with bitterness. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. The oracle said I’d have a daughter,” he argued, frustration spilling from every word. “Our baby was meant to look like her.”
Desperate to reach him, Adrian’s mother pleaded, “Why don’t you take a closer look at that child? Your son has beautiful eyes, Adrian. Just like hers.”
Finally, reeking of alcohol, Adrian entered the bedroom, picked up our son and examined him closely. Tears streamed down his face, mingled with laughter as he turned to me and said, “Lorie, our son has such beautiful eyes. They look just like yours.”
Adrian named our son Lorian Grant Hardy, a blend of our names—Lorie and Adrian—and included both our surnames as a testament to the strength of our love. In those early days, Adrian was a devoted father, always present for Lorian. No matter how exhausted he was from work, he never made me get up to feed our son at night until Lorian was over a year old.
When Lorian turned one, Adrian returned to that secluded spot in the countryside to fulfill his vow. Upon returning, he seemed much happier than before. That night, I overheard him on the phone, mentioning our son’s name repeatedly. He even said that Lorian’s birth was meant to pave the way for “Lorie” to come back, filling me with hope that our happiness would last forever.
However, everything changed when Lorian turned five. Adrian disappeared for another week. When he finally returned, he brought with him an eleven-year-old girl named Enid, who was blind and an orphan, a patient of Adrian’s.
Ever since Enid entered our lives, Adrian had been distant, hardly coming home. Lorian, missing his father, cried out for him, so I took him to the hospital. From a distance, I saw Adrian reading a bedtime story to Enid, who was nestled comfortably in his arms.
When our son saw him, he lit up with joy, dashing inside to greet his father. But within moments, Lorian emerged, his face streaked with tears. Adrian had sent him away.
It wasn’t long before Adrian followed, his face sour. He confronted me, scolding, “Why did you bring him here? I don’t have time to play with him. I’m busy. You both should go home.”
Then I heard the sound of crying from inside the ward. The girl was whimpering and Adrian rushed back in to calm her down. I thought my son must have been disruptive, perhaps dropping things or causing a scene, so I chose not to pursue the issue further and took Lorian home.
The next day, Adrian returned home, running straight to me without even taking off his shoes. He grabbed my hand, his eyes sparkling with urgency. “Lorie, why don’t we adopt Enid? This way, you wouldn’t have to go through the pain of childbirth again.”
I was completely taken aback by his sudden request, unsure how to respond. Seeing my silence, he embraced me gently, his expression softening. “Enid has no family left in this world. Plus, we’d be giving Lorian a sister and a playmate. Come on, Lorie. I really… really like her. I’m sure you’ll like her too.”
