Epilogue I
MOLLY
Eighteen Months Later
There is a sweetness to afternoons now, a softness I didn’t know life could have until Samuil and I built this one together. The sunlight pours through the nursery windows in warm sheets of gold, catching on the tiny dust particles that drift lazily through the air.
Nikolai sits on his play mat surrounded by a chaotic ring of baby toys, banging a soft block against his leg confidently.
In his mind, he is doing very important work.
His chubby arms move with determination, and every few moments he stops, mid-bang, to look up at me with the sweetest little smile, making sure I’m giving him all my attention.
He has Samuil’s eyes, a deep, warm brown, fringed with lashes that are just unfairly long and thick. But he has my smile, wide and squishy and earnest. He also has a dimple in his right cheek that neither of us can explain. I’ve decided it’s just his little signature on the world.
His laugh bursts out suddenly as I tickle under his chin, so sweet it makes me laugh too.
“Are you having fun?” I ask, reaching for his pudgy foot and pretending to nibble on it. He shrieks with delight, kicking hard enough that his sock flies off.
He loves when I do that, and I love the sound of him laughing. There were days, almost a year ago, when I wasn’t sure I would ever hear anything so pure. That dark stretch of time feels impossibly far away now, like a life someone else lived.
His laughter stops suddenly, replaced by an intent stare at the floating dust motes above him.
His mind is always busy. He watches, absorbs, listens, and learns.
I wonder if he’ll grow up quiet like me, observing before acting, or if he’ll grow up fierce like Samuil, steady, intentional, and protective.
I’m still smiling when I hear the front door open and close with the soft metallic click Samuil always makes when he’s trying not to wake the baby. A moment later, his footsteps come down the hall.
Nikolai hears him before he sees him. His whole body wiggles excitedly, arms flapping like a little bird.
“Da-da-da-da!” he squeals in a long string of sounds he doesn’t really understand yet.
I roll my eyes at the ceiling even though his excitement always makes me grin.
“It’s so unfair,” I tell Nikolai. “I spend all day playing with you, but you get all excited to see your dada.”
Samuil appears in the doorway, loosening his tie with one hand, his hair slightly mussed from the wind outside. He laughs as he takes in Nikolai and me playing on the floor. His shoulders drop, the tension in his jaw relaxes, and the warmth in his eyes floods the entire room.
“There are my loves,” he says softly.
I can’t help but melt a little. Even after a year-and-a-half, I’m still getting used to the fact that I have a real family. I have a husband who loves me, and a son we both adore. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of.
Samuil crosses the room in a few long strides, bends down, and kisses me first. Always me first. It’s just a soft press of lips, a quiet hello that carries all the affection he has for me. I kiss him back, slow and familiar.
Nikolai begins to fuss dramatically, but it’s just for show. He can’t stand not being the center of attention. Samuil laughs and scoops him up effortlessly. “Hey, kartoshka,” he murmurs, kissing our son’s cheek. “Were you good for Mama today?”
Nikolai immediately grabs two fistfuls of Samuil’s shirt and squeals something unintelligible that Samuil pretends to understand completely.
“He says yes,” Samuil translates solemnly.
“Oh, does he?” I raise a brow. “Because what I heard was him explaining how he had two blowouts and fussed the whole time I tried to change him.”
“He’s our independent boy,” Samuil says with a straight face. “He’ll change his own diapers.”
“That would be the dream.” I laugh.
“Absolutely.”
He lowers himself to the floor beside me, leaning his shoulder into mine as he settles Nikolai in his lap. Our son immediately begins patting Samuil’s face, memorizing every line.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks me without looking away from the baby.
I take a slow breath. “It was good,” I say honestly. “Exhausting, but good.”
Teaching again still feels surreal. It’s only been a week, and it was so hard being away from Nikolai for so many hours.
Still, I loved interacting with my fifth graders and providing for all their needs.
Being back in that environment feels right, like reclaiming a piece of myself I wasn’t sure survived the chaos of last year.
“How was the adjustment?” Samuil asks. “Be honest.”
I pick at the hem of my sweater. “It was harder than I expected,” I admit. “I miss Nikolai all day long, but I love being with my class. They’re such good kids.”
Samuil’s arm slips around my waist, anchoring me gently.
“I forgot how good it feels to make a difference. To see kids respond to structure and kindness. To show them the world can be safe.”
Samuil bends his head slightly, his breath brushing my temple. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs into my hair. “Those kids are so lucky to have you as their teacher.”
The words sink into me slowly and warmly. They wrap around me like a cozy blanket, making me feel safe and loved.
“And I’m glad,” he adds quietly, “that you chose something for yourself.”
“I am too,” I whisper.
Nikolai, apparently sensing this moment might be too quiet, slaps Samuil’s cheek with his tiny palm and squeals triumphantly.
“He’s strong,” Samuil says, eyes wide in mock seriousness. “Very strong. He’ll outrun us both by the time he’s five.”
“Speak for yourself.”
He smirks at me. “Molly, you tripped over a stuffed giraffe this morning.”
“It was a tactical misstep.”
“It squeaked when you fell.”
“It surprised me!”
Nikolai giggles at our bickering, grabbing Samuil’s nose and then my hair as if trying to participate in the conversation.
Samuil carefully pries his fingers free.
“Let’s not attack Mama’s hair, hmm? She worked hard on that.”
Nikolai blows a raspberry in response.
“Well,” I say thoughtfully, “he might not be able to talk yet, but he certainly has strong opinions.”
Samuil laughs quietly. “Mama,” he says suddenly, tapping Nikolai’s nose. “Say Mama.”
“Da-da-da,” Nikolai says immediately, thrilled with himself.
“No,” Samuil corrects, stern in the playful way only he can be. “We practiced this. Mama.”
Nikolai sticks his fist in his mouth.
Samuil sighs. “He’s mocking me.”
“He is,” I agree. “And I support it fully.”
“That’s betrayal.”
“Parental delegation.”
“We’ll see who he loves more when he’s older.”
“He already loves me more.”
“Of course he does.” Samuil smiles. “You’re the most lovable person I know.”
We grin at each other, and something soft flutters in my chest.
Samuil has taken to fatherhood like a fish to water.
He’s a natural at it, and he insists on being just as involved in Nikolai’s care as I am.
Since we switched to bottle-feeding, Samuil wakes up at night so I can be rested for school.
He changes just as many diapers as I do, and he’s always coming home with little toys to help with Nikolai’s development.
It’s so different from the man he was when he was pakhan.
Samuil adjusts Nikolai on his lap and leans into me again.
“You look tired,” he says gently. “Was it a rough week?”
“A little,” I admit. “The kids are wonderful, but I forgot how draining it can be to be ‘on’ all day long. Lunch duty today nearly finished me off.”
Samuil chuckles. “You need better security in that cafeteria.”
“I need earplugs,” I correct.
He threads his fingers through mine. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says softly. “I know you could have stayed home, and I would have supported that too. But I like seeing you do what you love.”
I rest my head lightly on his shoulder. “I like being back. And I like coming home to this.”
Nikolai lets out a squeal so joyful it almost startles us, then falls over onto his stomach in a dramatic roll that clearly delights him. He kicks his legs, babbling happily at nothing. Samuil watches him with a tenderness that still brings a lump to my throat.
Nikolai looks back at us and laughs, waiting for us to pick him up. I lurch forward to grab him and pull him back against me, smiling as he lets out a peal of happy laughter.
He’s such a happy baby, and I couldn’t love him more. From the first moment I knew he existed, I loved him with my entire heart. He was my reason to keep going, my reason to stay safe in the midst of danger, my reason to live.
The last year with him and Samuil have been the best of my life, and I’ll never take for granted what a perfect miracle he is, even when he’s screaming bloody murder or ruining another onesie.
“It’s almost his bath time,” Samuil murmurs quietly. “Want me to handle it tonight?”
“No.” I sigh, staring down at my perfect boy. “I want to do it. I missed my time with him all week.”
Samuil smiles and kisses the top of my head. “Of course, lyubimaya,” he answers affectionately. “I’ll make us some dinner.”
He leaves us to go to the kitchen, and I take Nikolai into the bathroom, where I get him settled in his baby bathtub. He splashes around happily, only crying when I wipe his face. He hates having his face cleaned, no matter how dirty he is.
“You’re okay,” I coo, rubbing his head gently. “Mama’s here.”
He gives one more little sniffle and then smiles at me with his one little tooth.
“Mama will always be here,” I promise him. “And I will never let anything happen to you.”
“M-m-m,” he tries, probably the closest he’ll get to “mama” for a while.