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Ludwig watched his reflection in the tall mirror of the dressing room, adjusting the knot of the tie on that Prussian blue suit that his father loved so much and that his father had worn on his wedding day, decades ago. Ludwig had decided to wear it. A small tribute or perhaps a form of exorcism. The fabric reminded him of those childhood years when his father was still around—now his father was no longer there, not physically...
In the room, only the soft whisper of his mother helping him put on his jacket echoed, while they assisted him. Ludwig felt, as so many times before, the old and painful question nestling in his chest: Why didn't his parents' marriage work? What had happened to that love that, according to the photos, had once been sworn? Perhaps his birth had been what broke that marriage. 'I don't want our marriage to be like this,' he thought vehemently, looking at himself in that mirror. 'Mikhail doesn't deserve that; he deserves something better.'
And then, as if the mind were trying to confirm its worst fears, the memory assaulted him. It wasn't a vague memory, but painfully sharp, painfully clear.
Any given night, in Germany almost twenty years ago. Ludwig, a boy of barely nine years old, was lying on his mother's lap in that old worn-out armchair.She was reading, absorbed in a thick medical book. The air smelled of coffee. She told him that she had always wanted to be a doctor. 'But when I got married, that dream faded,' she said, and there was a tone of resignation that he didn't fully understand at the time, but now, as an adult about to get married, he understood it clearly. Perhaps that was what caused her marriage to fail in the first place. They gave up on themselves, they got lost; it was like tearing the roots out of a tree – it can still stand, but inside it is dry.
In her memory, his mother was so absorbed in the pages that she didn’t notice Ludwig slipping from her lap. The boy, drawn by the sound of hesitant footsteps on the porch, opened the door of the house. There was his father, leaning against the frame, his breath heavy with the sour smell of cheap alcohol and his eyes glassy.
The scene moved to the living room. His mother finally lifted her gaze from the book. Ludwig would never forget that look; it was not a look of worry or anger or rejection. At that time, he didn’t know if it was because of his father’s state or because of his presence, but once again, the adult made him see the truth: it was because of the presence of that man who had promised to spend his whole life by her side.
His father, in turn, received that look not with shame, but with a pure and silent hatred. What emerged from that silence were screams that tore through the night, accusations that had been fermenting for years in bitterness. Ludwig, hidden behind his bedroom door, saw them transform into two strangers, into two enemies trapped in the same bed. That night, no one slept.
The next morning, the sun timidly entered through the windows. Her pale father with sunken eyes had already left. Her mother, her face marked by exhaustion and infinite sadness, was preparing breakfast for her and her son. It was then that she came closer and asked the question that would be tattooed in her memory:
"Mom, why did you marry Dad?"
"Why? Well... men are supposed to marry women."
"But why did you marry Dad?"
"Because I loved him, son, but I didn’t love him."
-Ludwig- a firm voice abruptly pulled him out of the abyss of memory. He blinked, disoriented, finding himself back in the present, in the room prepared for his wedding, with his suit perfectly fitted.
-Huh? What's going on, Dell? -he asked, seeing his friend and best man again.
-The ceremony is about to start. You need to be outside, in your position, right now. Come on-
As he walked down the aisle that led to the outdoor altar, under a sky that today was a brilliant blue, his thoughts whirled like a whirlwind around Mikhail, his dear Misha. He wondered how he would look in that white suit he had gone to choose with his sisters, and he began to imagine Mikhail's mother walking him down the aisle.
He and his husband would do it better, and at least in this life they would be coming together, he and his husband, because he didn’t just love Mikhail, he loved him with a strength that scared him to lose. They weren’t marrying out of convenience, loneliness, or a lukewarm desire. They were marrying for the vibrant and undeniable love he felt every time his Misha smiled at him. So he was betting everything on that smile, and at least in this life they would be coming together. When Mikhail appeared at the end of the hallway, led by his mother, Ludwig felt that the world held its breath. His boyfriend—no, his husband—looked like an angel; more than that, he seemed to emanate his own light, a calm and radiant happiness that Ludwig could imagine his whole life being the place where he wanted to be for all eternity.
When he finally had him in front of him, he gave him a smile. Mikhail looked at him, met his eyes, and returned a smile.
And in Misha's clear eyes, he saw the same conviction reflected.
Here at this altar, something different was born. Ludwig silently made the deepest promise: he would care for, honor, and love that man with all the intensity and fidelity that his parents never knew how to have. For a reason, he was marrying him—because he loved him, and he would never make the same mistakes.
My husband and I
stay united.