Epilogue II
SAMUIL
Five Years Later
The first thing I see when we arrive is Molly’s face on a banner.
It hangs above the new community center entrance, her smile wide, bright, and genuine, next to the logo she designed herself for the nonprofit she built from the ground up.
She fought for every dollar of funding, refusing to let me fund it outright.
She wrote proposals during late nights. She navigated partnerships with schools, city officials, and donors despite never once having done anything like this before.
Now she stands in front of the building, the fruition of all her dreams. It’s a safe place for kids who never had one, an after-school resource center she’s dreamed about for years.
Our oldest, Nikolai, who insists on being called Niko now that he’s a “big boy,” stands in front of the entrance gripping the oversized ceremonial scissors like they’re a sword.
His chest swells with pride every time someone smiles at him.
Molly smooths his hair for the fifth time even though he messes it up on purpose whenever she fixes it.
I watch her from just a few steps away, my hands resting on the stroller where our daughters, two-month-old twins, sleep under the sunshade I triple-checked.
The sun is out and hotter than expected.
Their tiny breaths puff rhythmically, soft little sighs that make me want to protect them from anyone who even looks at them the wrong way.
I still have such a hard time believing I have three kids now with the wife I adore. I never could have imagined any of this. Even when I first found out she was pregnant, I didn’t expect our family to expand this much, or my heart to be this full.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Molly says brightly, crouching beside Niko. “Are you ready to cut the ribbon?”
Niko beams, showing off the gap where his front tooth used to be.
“I practiced, Mama. I’m gonna do it right.”
“I have complete confidence in you,” she murmurs, kissing his forehead.
Then she turns, like she feels me watching her, and our eyes meet. I give her a small nod. She smiles, soft and full of warmth, and I swallow hard.
A crowd forms around us, full of the press, donors, local officials, and families from the community.
It’s not overwhelming, but it’s enough that I position the stroller slightly closer to my leg, purely out of instinct.
Old habits die hard, but the difference is I don’t feel the same kind of fear anymore.
Not like before. I stepped back from the darker parts of the Bratva years ago, and the man who manages the more dangerous operations now can have that burden.
My first priority is my family. To Molly, who’s worked for this moment as if the world depended on it, and to my three perfect children.
“Good afternoon, everyone!” she calls out when she steps up to the small podium, her voice carrying the confidence she’s earned.
The crowd quiets instantly. She’s captivating when she’s like this. She’s vibrant in a way few people ever get to see. Her passion is something kinetic. It fills the air, draws people in, and makes them want to believe in something good.
“I want to welcome you all to the opening of the Walnut Grove Resource Center,” she says. “This is more than a building. This is a promise to our kids. A place where they will be safe, supported, encouraged, fed, and surrounded by people who love them.”
Applause breaks out, loud and sincere. My throat tightens with pride. People are seeing in her what I’ve seen all along, and she’s done all the work to make her own dreams come true. I supported her in every way I could, but she did this herself. She insisted.
She keeps speaking, talking about after-school tutoring programs, STEM enrichment, art therapy, music classes, mental health support, and weekend meals-to-go.
She tells the crowd about parents who need childcare so they can work evening shifts.
About kids who fall behind, not because they can’t learn, but because they were never given a fair chance.
I know how much this matters to her, and I know why it matters.
I know the ghosts she carries and the things she survived growing up in foster care.
She went without so many times, and often had no support from her foster parents.
She’s dedicated her life to making sure that the kids in our community never have to experience that.
A small hand tugs at my sleeve. I look down to see Anya, now ten years old, standing beside me. She’s wearing a little blue dress with embroidered daisies and white sandals that she insisted on wearing even though it’s November.
“Uncle Samuil,” she whispers, tilting her head toward the crowd. “Are all of them here for Auntie Molly?”
“Yep,” I answer, resting a hand gently on her back. “Today is a good day.”
She nods once, processing that, and moves closer to me. She’s grown so much, but moments like this remind me how small she still is. How much she needs stability, safety, and love.
Davyd walks up behind her a minute later, one hand resting on her shoulder. His expression is hard at first, a holdout from being the pakhan, but when his eyes cut to Molly at the podium, his face lights up with a smile.
“She’s doing great up there,” he says, sounding just as proud as I am.
“She really is,” I say back, beaming.
He glances at the stroller where the twins sleep. “And how are Thing 1 and Thing 2?” he teases. “Can you tell them apart yet?”
I quickly shush him and look around to make sure no one overheard him.
“I told you that in confidence, dimwit,” I say. “I’m sure they’ll start to look different when they get older, but as long as they’re fed and have fresh diapers, it doesn’t matter too much if I mix them up.”
“I’m telling Auntie Molly,” Anya teases, running toward the stage and patiently waiting for Molly to finish her speech.
“Thanks for that.” I roll my eyes at Davyd.
He snorts.
Molly’s speech ends with another round of applause. She steps down, beams at Niko, and nods at him to cut the ribbon.
“Ready, buddy?” she asks.
He nods back fiercely.
“One… two…” Molly counts, squeezing Niko’s shoulders.
“Three!” he shouts.
The scissors snip through the ribbon, crookedly and imperfectly, and the crowd erupts in cheers.
Niko throws his hands up triumphantly and announces to everyone within ten feet: “I cut the whole thing all by myself!”
Molly and I applaud with everyone else, laughing as he sprints toward me and leaps into my arms. He’s getting big, heavier, but I lift him like he weighs nothing.
“You did great,” I tell him, ruffling his hair.
“I’m strong,” he declares proudly.
“Yes, you are,” I agree. “Just don’t cut anything at home.”
He grins mischievously, which does nothing to reassure me. I set him down and he runs over to show Anya something. I step up beside Davyd, who’s watching the press take photos of the front entrance.
“Never thought I’d see your name in the papers without a mugshot,” he says dryly.
I chuckle.
“And it suits you,” he adds after a moment, his voice softer. “This life. No one’s more surprised than I am, but you’ve really come into your own.”
I look around. At my son, showing off, at Anya, leaning cautiously but trustingly toward the twins’ stroller. At Molly laughing with a donor, her hand instinctively resting on Niko’s blond curls, always grounding herself to our children even as she moves through the crowd.
At the building she fought for with all her ambition and love.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I have.”
His hand claps my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, brat,” he says.
I look away before emotion can betray me. “Don’t start.”
He chuckles. “Fine. I’ll save it for your daughters’ weddings. But which daughter, I wonder. Hopefully by then you can tell them apart.”
“Fuck off.” I laugh, looking around to make sure there are no children around to overhear me. Thankfully, it’s just the twins, who are far too young to comprehend cussing yet.
A moment later Molly walks back over to us, her face glowing with purpose and happiness. She glows in a way I’ve never seen before.
“How do you feel?” I ask her.
She looks at the building behind us. Then at me. Then at our babies.
“Like this is exactly where I was always supposed to end up.”
I swallow hard. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into me. She comes willingly, instantly, her hand sliding up my chest and over my shoulder.
“You did this,” I tell her. “Every brick, every program, every kid who’s going to feel safe here, you made this happen.”
“We did this,” she corrects gently.
“No,” I say, brushing a thumb along her jaw. “You dreamed it, and I’m honored I got to help.”
Her eyes soften, and then I kiss her. It’s a real kiss, full of all the passion and love I have for her. I don’t care that the cameras are watching us, and it seems like neither does she. I feel her sigh against me, her body relaxing into mine like she always does.
Of course, the moment can’t last.
“Yuckyyy!” Niko shouts from somewhere near the stroller. “Mommy, Daddy’s kissing is gross!”
Molly laughs against my mouth. I pull back and look over at him. He’s holding our twins’ rattle like a sword, pointing it at us accusingly.
“Make it stop!” he demands.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You better get used to it, synok.”
He wrinkles his nose dramatically. “Why?”
“Because,” I say, scooping Molly right back into my arms, “I plan to kiss your mother for the rest of my life.”
Molly’s cheeks flush slightly, but she smiles at me with the same expression that brought me to my knees the first time I saw it, the one that made every decision after that feel easy. I finally know what it means to be complete, and she’s the reason.
The End