Maxwell stiffens, caught off guard, but after a beat, I feel his body soften. He hesitates, then lifts his hand and pats my shoulder—a small but deliberate gesture. Forgiveness. Acceptance.
Elijah bounces on his heels beside us, oblivious to the gravity of the moment. "Papa, look! Grandpa brought methis!" He hoists a brightly wrapped box, his excitement breaking the tension like a warm breeze.
In the background, Galina fusses over the place settings, her hands adjusting already-perfect linens while Ivan lingers near the door, his sharp gaze scanning the room.
I glance around, taking it all in. The long table stretches beneath crystal chandeliers, their soft light casting a golden glow over evergreen centerpieces and polished silverware. It’s strange, seeing them all here. Together.
Family. The word still feels foreign on my tongue, but tonight, it feels just right.
Later, after too much food and several bottles of wine, Maxwell clears his throat. The conversation dies down, and something in his expression makes me reach for Clara's hand under the table.
"I've never been good at this," he starts, his voice rough. "Being a father. Making the right choices. But Clara—" He looks at my wife, and I feel her grip tighten. "You've always had an Onyx Heart. Strong. Unbreakable. Even when I wasn't there to see it."
Clara's breath hitches, and I pull her closer, feeling her tremble against my side. Around us, our mismatched family—Russian and American, blood and chosen—sits in understanding silence.
"To the Onyx Heart," Ludis raises his glass, and for once, there's no trace of sarcasm in his voice.
"Toseem-YA,family." I add, and I mean it.
The End
