His lips pause. "That's all? Feels like I've been dealing with you forever."
"Wow. Romance lives."
He chuckles, low against my skin. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah," I admit. "Half a year. Feels… longer."
"Want your anniversary gift?"
I twist a little to look at him. "You got me something?"
"Whatever you want. Just name it."
"I already got mine," I say, nodding toward the counter.
He lets go and crosses to it, eyeing the small, wrapped box as if it may detonate. "You're suspiciously calm about this."
"Open it."
He does—carefully—revealing a plain white mug. "Cute. But we have mugs."
"Turn it around."
He does and reads the words before freezing solid.
#1 Dad.
"Lila…"
"Check inside."
His hand shakes as he reaches in and pulls out the pregnancy test. Two perfect pink lines.
He stares. Once at it, once at me, then back again. "When?"
"This morning. Before my shower."
He blinks, still catching up. "And you've known for?—?"
"About twenty minutes longer than you."
A change moves across his face—disbelief melting into awe. He moves fast, drops to his knees, and presses his forehead against my stomach. Still flat. Still mine.
He whispers in Russian—quiet, raw, too full of emotion to translate. It doesn't matter. I feel it. Every syllable. Then, softly, "We're really having a baby?"
"Yeah." I can't stop smiling. "We really are."
He laughs. "A mug, though?"
"I was excited. The mug and marker were right there."
He kisses my stomach again, gently this time. "Our baby," he murmurs. "Our impossible, perfect baby."
And I realize—this is what calm feels like, when it's built out of chaos.
He stands, and those blue eyes lock on mine, intense enough to make breathing difficult.
"Lila, I fucking love you. You hear that? I fucking love you more than anything in this fucking world."
