Sophia
It’s Christmas morning.
We shared gifts with the staff yesterday and sent them home early so they could spend the holidays with their families. Now it’s just us. We didn’t even get dressed until it was time to eat.
Now I press my hand to my stomach as I stand at the window.
The valley below glitters gold and white, and something deep inside me hums to match it.
I don’t know how to explain it, this strange, fluttering awareness.
I’ve been tired this last couple of days, dizzy in the mornings, unable to finish my coffee without nausea.
At first, I thought it was the altitude. The quiet. The shift from chaos to calm. But now… I know.
The thought fills me with a warmth so sharp it almost hurts.
When I hear Yury’s footsteps behind me, steady and certain, my breath catches. He stops just behind me, his reflection joining mine in the glass. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
I turn in his arms and look up at him. His face is softer now, the tension of his day already fading. The firelight catches the specks of silver in his hair, and for a moment I don’t the Pakhan, the man I thought I feared, but the man who has been building me a home without even realizing it.
“About how everything changed so fast,” I whisper. “About how I’m not the same person I was when you came to my door four weeks ago.”
He studies me, searching. “You regret it?”
“No.” My voice breaks a little. “I’m grateful.”
His hands tighten at my waist. “Then tell me what’s in your head, angelu.”
I swallow hard, then press his palm flat against my stomach. “It’s not just us anymore.”
For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. His gaze drops to where his hand rests, and I watch the moment it hits him. The stillness, then the inhale, sharp and deep, like the first breath after surfacing from water.
“Are you sure?” His voice is quiet, reverent.
I nod. “I think so. I feel it. I’m due on any day so that will make me certain.”
He stares at me like I’ve just told him something holy. Then, slowly, his hand spreads wider, possessive and gentle all at once.
“Mine,” he whispers, and then again, softer. “Ours.” When he lifts his eyes back to mine, the emotion there is raw enough to undo me. “You’ve given me everything I ever wanted.”
I press a hand to his cheek. “So did you.”
Outside, the snow starts to fall again, thick and slow, blanketing the valley in white. Yury pulls me closer until our foreheads touch. The fire pops, the record hums on, and for the first time since my mom died, Christmas feels exactly like it’s supposed to.
Joyful.