"You're—" I tried again, but words weren't working.
"About eight weeks," Sophie said, voice trembling. "I found out three days ago. I wanted to tell you before the wedding but it felt wrong, like it would overshadow everything. But then I thought—" She stopped, tears streaming. "I thought the best wedding gift I could give you was our future. Our family. This."
Her hand pressed firmer against her stomach.
There was a baby in there. Our baby.
The ghosts I'd been carrying—my mother who'd abandoned us, my father who'd been too broken to really love—they went suddenly, blessedly silent.
Eclipsed by profound joy.
Our child would know nothing but warmth. Nothing but safety and love and absolute certainty that they were wanted.
"We're going to have a baby," I said, testing the words.
"Yes." Sophie's voice broke. "Are you—is this okay? I know we hadn't talked about timing—"
I kissed her. Cut off her anxious rambling, tasting salt from her tears and champagne and pure Sophie underneath. The kiss was desperate and reverent simultaneously.
When I pulled back, I was crying too. Actually crying, tears streaming down my face.
"This is everything. You're everything." My voice broke. "This—our baby—"
I couldn't finish. The enormity was too much.
I set the ivory pawn carefully on the bedside table, then pulled Sophie against me. My hands found her face, wiping away tears, then slid down to rest on her stomach over her own hands.
Nothing there yet. Just the soft curve of her belly. But underneath—growing, developing, becoming—was our child.
"I love you," I whispered against her hair. "I love you so much it terrifies me. And knowing we made a person together, knowing I get to be a father with you—" I stopped, overwhelmed. "I've never been happier. Never been more terrified. Never been more certain that everything I've done was exactly right because it led here. To you. To this."
Sophie sobbed against my chest, her whole body shaking.
"Our baby will know they're loved," I promised, words coming from somewhere deep and fierce. "Will never question whether they matter. Will grow up knowing they're wanted and protected and absolutely safe. I swear it, Sophie."
She nodded against me, unable to speak.
I held her while she cried, while we both processed the magnitude. A baby. Our baby.
I was Nikolai Besharov. Pakhan. Husband. Daddy.
And now—father.
The title sat in my chest with sacred weight. Terrifying. Absolutely right.
I looked at the ivory pawn again, that small perfect piece that represented everything we were building. The beginning of something new.
Life wasn't chess after all. Wasn't strategy or calculated risk or thinking seventeen moves ahead.
It was this. Kneeling on the floor with my pregnant wife in my arms, crying happy tears while our future grew between us.
It was choosing love even when it was terrifying.
It was surrender.
Complete, absolute, terrifying surrender to the kind of joy that made strategic thinking irrelevant.
And I'd never been more grateful to lose control.
