Three days since Anton’s text. Seventy-two hours sinceAlmost home, my love. Wait for me.
Three days of holding onto those words like a lifeline.
He’s alive. He’s coming home. That’s all I know. That’s all I need to know.
For now.
“You’re quiet today,” Grandma observes. She’s rolling out dough for dumplings. The thick, flat kind that need to be cut into strips and dropped into the simmering broth. The ones that take four hours but are worth every second.”
“Just thinking.”
“About him?”
“Always.”
She nods. Doesn’t judge. Just keeps rolling. “When’s he coming home?”
“Soon. A few more days.”
“Good. I want to meet him properly. Not just that quick introduction like the last time.”
“You will. I promise.”
Nurse Ruth is at the table, chopping cabbage. She’s on leave this week—took time off specifically to help Grandma with whatever project she was planning. Which, apparently, is feeding me until I explode.
“How’s the morning sickness?” Ruth asks. Professional. Clinical. Even when she’s off-duty.
“Better. Still there, but manageable.”
“Good. That usually peaks around week ten, eleven. You’re almost through the worst of it.”
“Almost” feels like the theme of my life right now.
Almost done with the first trimester. Almost done waiting for Anton. Almost thirty years old. Almost a mother.
Almost, almost, almost.
The back door opens. Jasper walks in carrying bags from some fancy grocery store I’ve never heard of.
“I brought provisions!” he announces. “Organic, locally sourced, and ridiculously overpriced. You’re welcome.”
Grandma looks at him over her glasses. “We have food, Jasper.”
“You have ingredients. I broughtprovisions.” He starts unpacking. Fancy cheeses. Artisan bread. Imported olive oil. “There’s a difference.”
“He’s dramatic,” I tell Grandma.
“I’m thorough,” Jasper corrects. He kisses Grandma’s cheek. “Looking beautiful as always, Mrs. Sullivan.”
“Flattery doesn’t work on me.”
“It absolutely does.”
She tries not to smile. Fails.
Outside, I can see Lev and Dima through the window. Standing in the driveway. Not talking. Just… existing. Watching.
They’ve been like that since Anton’s text came through. Calm. Steady. No visible relief or celebration.
