I lifted my head slightly and turned to look at him.
His eye — the one still intact after everything — searched my face carefully.
“I remember who you were,” I continued. “I remember what you did. The anger. The control. The decisions that hurt me.”
His jaw tightened.
“But I also remember how you fought to change.”
I brushed my fingers gently along the edge of his eyepatch.
“I choose the man in front of me now.”
His breath shifted — subtle relief.
Soft.
Unspoken gratitude.
He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to my wrist where his lips lingered.
“Say that again,” he murmured against my skin.
I smiled.
“I choose you, Ruslan.”
He exhaled quietly.
Then the conversation shifted.
He grew quieter.
Deeper.
“I keep imagining another one,” he admitted suddenly.
The confession surprised me.
“A baby?” I asked softly.
He nodded slowly.
“Maybe a boy. Or another girl.”
His hand slid to my waist.
“I want to see you carry again. To watch your body change. To feel a life kick against my palm while you’re sleeping.”
Heat flickered through me at his words.
“You say that like we haven’t been... busy.”
He smirked. “We have.”
“Repetitively.”
“Which is precisely why I’m slightly concerned,” I admitted, my voice steady.
