Epilogue I
ALINA
Two Years Later
The first thing Drey does when we walk through the zoo gates is try to run away from us. Of course. He takes off in a full-body determined toddler sprint toward absolute freedom, tiny sneakers slapping wildly against the concrete while he shrieks in excitement.
“Drey,” I call, already laughing even as I hurry after him. “You have to wait for Mommy and Daddy!”
He doesn’t wait, of course. At fifteen months old, he is fearless, loud, and entirely convinced the world exists for him to explore at top speed. The fact that the world also contains danger has never once crossed his mind, and I pray every night it won’t for a long time yet.
Andrei catches him easily, pulling him into his arms as he squirms and cries to get away from him. Andrei stops his tears with a quick tickle to his belly that makes Drey let out a loud round of laughter.
I slow to a stop a few feet away, breathless and smiling, watching them happily.
I ignore the guards who hover just a few feet away, ready to step in at the slightest sign of danger.
That’s why I don’t worry when Drey has his rambunctious spurts of energy.
These men would rather die than let anything happen to our son.
Death might actually be a relief compared to what Andrei would do if they allowed Drey to come in contact with any real danger.
“You run like you’re being chased,” Andrei tells Drey in Russian, voice low and amused as he settles the baby more securely against his chest.
Drey responds by patting his face with sticky hands and saying something that sounds suspiciously like “chase me,” though he’s not really proficient in words yet.
His words are all still very babyish, and mostly imitations of what he hears us say.
He also gets extra confused by his father’s Russian.
I finally reach them and brush a curl off the back of Drey’s neck, unable to stop touching him even after all this time. I’m obsessed with my boy. From the moment he came into this world, I never want to be away from him.
Even after twenty-seven hours of endless labor.
Motherhood started a little rough, and he was not a happy boy when he arrived.
He screamed and screamed for what felt like weeks.
My father moved in with us for a few months to help out, and Kendra came as much as she possibly could.
Andrei employed no less than five nannies.
Then, one day while Andrei was at work and I was completely exhausted, I tried one last-ditch effort. I sang to him this old Russian lullaby that my dad used to sing to me when I was a little girl. He looked up at me with these big, brown eyes, and gave me the world’s most beautiful smile.
At least, that’s how I choose to remember it. It could have been gas.
Ever since, Drey has been a perfect boy. He’s big like his dad. He’s in the ninety-ninth percentile for height and weight already, and he never stops moving. From the moment he took his first step, he cannot be contained. He definitely keeps us all on our toes.
“Elephants,” I say softly, pointing toward the path ahead where a small crowd has gathered near the railing.
Drey gasps and claps like I’m a fairy who’s just granted his heart’s desire.
“Ehhh-funt,” he declares with absolute authority.
Andrei huffs a quiet laugh, the sound so warm it still surprises me sometimes.
There are parts of him the world will never see.
He’s kind and he’s sarcastic. He’s also a little goofy, especially with Drey.
No matter how tired he is when he gets home from work, he always makes sure to play with our son, and he’s the king of bathtime.
I used to think loving him meant living inside danger forever. I was wrong. Loving him meant watching a man rewrite himself piece by piece until the life we wanted could actually exist.
The elephant enclosure is crowded, parents lifting children to see, cameras flashing, the low rumble of conversation blending with distant animal sounds and the bright, chaotic energy of a weekend afternoon.
Andrei shifts Drey higher, settling him onto his shoulders with practiced ease. Our son immediately grabs a handful of dark hair and leans forward, completely mesmerized by the massive gray shapes moving slowly beyond the barrier.
His whole body goes still in wonder. I think that might be my favorite part of being a mother, watching Drey discover the world for the first time. Every sound is new. Every sight is magic. Nothing is ordinary yet.
I step closer and rest my hand lightly on Andrei’s arm, grounding myself in the solid warmth of him
“You look happy,” he says quietly without looking at me.
“So do you,” I answer.
“I do not,” he says, forcing a frown. “Watching elephants makes me incredibly grumpy.”
Drey laughs from above us.
“Gumpy,” he manages with a peal of laughter.
Drey then points dramatically at the elephants and shouts something unintelligible that sounds very urgent.
Andrei murmurs back to him in Russian, translating the world into soft, steady words our son will grow up understanding in two languages, two cultures, two histories somehow braided into one small life.
A slow ache pulls my attention downward, and I rest my free hand over the gentle curve of my stomach without thinking.
Andrei notices immediately. He always does. His gaze drops, softening in a way that belongs only to me.
“How do you feel?” he asks quietly.
“Good,” I say. “Tired. Hungry. Emotional about zoo animals. The usual.”
His mouth curves into a private smile. “You do cry at everything,” he says.
“I’m growing an entire human being,” I remind him. “I’m allowed.”
Drey chooses that moment to squeal loud enough to startle a nearby pigeon, and we both laugh, the sound easy and unguarded.
The elephant lifts its trunk slowly, dust swirling in golden sunlight, and Drey gasps like he’s witnessing a miracle. Maybe he is.
I lean my head lightly against Andrei’s arm, breathing in the quiet steadiness of this life we built from chaos. Two years ago, everything felt impossible. Now the impossible is real, and we are happier than we ever thought we could be.