Epilogue
Andrei & Lilith
Andrei
Two months later, on a Saturday afternoon, the security system pinged. Someone at the front gate.
I pulled up the camera feed and paused.
Luca stood outside, paper bag in hand. He wore a clean navy shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair trimmed short—looked sharper than the last time I'd seen him at the hospital.
I walked out. October wind carried a chill now. Oak trees lining the driveway were dropping leaves, scattering brown-gold shadows across the lawn.
He saw me coming and straightened up.
"Dad."
"What do you want?"
"This—" He held out the bag. "For the kids. Didn't know what to get, just grabbed something."
I took the bag and looked inside. Two baby onesies, identical, pale gray, soft fabric.
"These work for either," he added, fingers rubbing the back of his neck. "The clerk said newborns wear this kind of thing. I didn't know if it was a brother or sister—"
Luca was acknowledging my kids with Lilith as his siblings.
"One boy, one girl. Ultrasound confirmed it last week," I said.
"Oh." He nodded, then shook his head quickly. "No—I mean, that's good. Twins are good." He shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled them out again. His lips moved.
He wanted to say something but couldn't get it out. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the words back down. Then he stepped back.
"I should go."
He turned toward the gate and took a few steps. Wind caught the hem of his shirt. He looked down, tugged at it, walking slowly.
"Luca."
He stopped. Didn't turn around.
"Thanks, son."
His body went stiff. From this distance, I couldn't tell if he'd said anything. Then he raised a hand, waved it once, and left.
After he was gone, I carried the bag back to the living room. Lilith was coming down the stairs, moving slower than before she was pregnant, one hand on the railing, the other supporting her lower back.
"Who was that?"
"Luca."
"What did he want?"
I set the bag on the coffee table and pulled out the two little outfits for her. She picked one up, turning it over, then grabbed the other. Then she found the card in the bag and pulled it out.
It just said: I'm sorry.
The handwriting pressed hard into the paper. Each letter ended with a deep point, like the writer had put his whole body weight into those words.
Lilith stared at the card. Didn't say anything. Just placed it gently back in the bag and went upstairs.
A while later, she came back down and showed me her phone screen.
She'd just texted Luca.
"When the babies are born, you can come see them. You're their big brother."
"Baby, you're way bigger than that little punk," I teased, pulling Lilith close.
"It's not about being bigger." She sighed. "I just don't want to hate anyone anymore. I'm so happy now—who has time and energy for hate?"
"Living our life well is the best thing we can do."
Lilith
Late night.
I leaned against Andrei, my back pressed to his chest, his arm wrapped around me from behind, one hand on my belly. This had become his standard sleeping position lately—no matter which way I turned, his hand always found its way back while I slept.
The two little ones were active today. Probably because I'd had half a cup of milk tea earlier—Elena had snuck it to me, said once in a while was fine—and now they were wired, tumbling around in there like they'd been electrified.
Andrei's palm lay flat over my belly, perfectly still. After about twenty seconds, a little bump rose on the left side of my navel, right into the center of his palm. His fingers curled gently, and the bump retreated. Then the right side bulged out, like they were playing whack-a-mole with him.
I felt a low laugh rumble through his chest.
"I used to think the best ending for me was dying in the pakhan's chair," Andrei said suddenly.
"And now?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, painting parallel silver lines across the floor.
Distant TV sounds drifted from somewhere—Elena pulling another all-nighter with her reality show, her laughter soft and far away, traveling through the hallway and study until it reached us as barely a whisper.
He moved his hand from my belly, sliding it up my arm, fingertips grazing my shoulder, finally stopping at my chin, gently turning my face toward his. Moonlight caught only half his face. His silver hair looked darker in the shadows, his blue eyes holding two bright points of light.
"Now I want to watch our children grow up." He paused, thumb brushing my cheekbone, then added in an even lower voice, almost like he was talking to himself. "I want to watch you grow old."
"Like those two old folks that day. When we're old, I'll still hold your hand, wherever we go."
I lifted my head and pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth.
He turned his face so the kiss landed properly.
Our lips touched lightly, a faint sweetness passing from tongue to tongue.
My heart felt impossibly calm. We were like two people who'd finally made shore, dropping anchor in the same piece of ocean floor.
The back of my head rested on his arm. I closed my eyes.
An image suddenly surfaced in my mind.
The image came uninvited, without permission.
I was wearing a wine-red silk nightgown, standing at a stranger's door, something still vibrating inside me, half-drunk, clutching the belt of my trench coat, using the clumsiest method of my life to hold onto someone completely unworthy. Back then, I thought I was finished.
Twenty-two, dumped, about to lose my job, my sister's heart failing a little more each day, and there I was at a strange man's door, taking off my coat.
That man was now lying behind me, palm covering my pregnant belly, heartbeat pressed against my back, steady as waves hitting shore.
Turns out some people crash into your life in what feels like the worst possible way, then flip everything over—like turning up a stone buried too long in dirt, letting in all that light and air and moisture you'd never seen before.
And then he becomes your whole world.
"Andrei."
"Yeah."
"My sister's restaurant opens in two weeks. Elena's got the menu locked down. She's been practicing her secret meat sauce recipe in the kitchen. The whole first floor smells like garlic."
He laughed, muffled. "I've noticed. Even the study curtains are marinated."
"You said it was good last time."
"It is good. Now, when I smell it, I know it's time for dinner." I giggled.
Elena's dream was to open a family restaurant.
Small was fine—didn't need to be fancy. A few wooden tables, an open kitchen, a menu full of Mom's home cooking.
Now that restaurant sat a few blocks from the manor.
They'd hung the sign yesterday: "Sisters' Kitchen" in warm yellow letters, with a tiny sunflower drawn beside it.
She said she was the head chef, I was her partner, and my main job was eating.
I thought that was a very reasonable division of labor.
Two weeks later, Sisters' Kitchen officially opened.
Elena got up at four that morning. When I came downstairs, she was already in the kitchen, sweating, apron dusted with flour, three plates of fresh cinnamon rolls stacked beside her.
She said she'd been too nervous to sleep.
I worried about her heart and made her sit down while I got her a glass of warm water.
Andrei asked if he should send some of his guys to fill seats—make it look busy. Elena almost threw her rolling pin at him. "I'm opening a family restaurant, not a mob cafeteria!" Andrei looked genuinely stumped and turned to me. I shrugged.
Turned out plenty of people came anyway. My friends, neighbors, my old coworkers from Gray Advertising—Cindy brought a bouquet of sunflowers and put it by the register, echoing the one in our living room.
Opening day, Andrei actually put on a server's uniform and helped my sister carry plates. He happened to serve Dmitri.
Dmitri had actually worn a slightly more colorful jacket. He glanced at Andrei, closed his eyes, turned his head, pretended not to see anything, and sat in the corner silently eating two plates of meat sauce pasta.
Amy watched Dmitri's profile and whispered to me. "How come I didn't see this hottie at your wedding? Maybe I left too early. Whatever, give me his number."
I called out, "Dmitri, over here. This lady wants to share your table."
Then I laughed and pushed Amy forward. "Go on, you got this." Amy's face went bright red—rare for her. She took a deep breath and walked toward Dmitri.
By evening closing time, Andrei picked us up, and we all went home. Almost nine o'clock.
I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed. Andrei turned off the lamp, his hand finding my belly as usual, palm pressing down. The two little ones were already asleep, only stirring lazily when my hand touched them, like they'd rolled over in a dream.
I closed my eyes.
My heart felt strangely quiet. Not tired quiet. The kind where you know tomorrow and the next day and the day after will be like this, so there's no rush to finish today. The kind of happiness you spent so long not daring to believe in, finally landing solid.
Andrei's breathing gradually steadied. I thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he spoke in the darkness, voice soft, muffled in his pillow.
"Lilith."
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
I opened my eyes and turned toward him. In the moonlight, his features were blurred—only his nose and closed eyes were clear.
I moved closer and buried my face in the curve of his neck, one hand on his chest.
"I love you too. And you looked really hot in that server uniform today," I said deliberately.
He laughed quietly, the vibration traveling through his skin.
This sound, I thought, would be the rest of my life.