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.
Davýd walks up behind her a minute later, one hand resting on her shoulder. His expression is hard at first, a holdout from being thepakhan, 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 Davýd.
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 Davýd, 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.”
