He talks about vows. He talks about patience and faith and the work of marriage. Some of his words slide past the edges of my mind. Some land and stay.
He asks for our promises.
“Sergei, repeat after me,” he says. “I, Sergei, take you, Raina, to be my lawful wife.”
I take a breath. My voice feels too big for my throat.
“I, Sergei, take you, Raina, to be my lawful wife,” I say.
He goes on. To love and to honor. In sickness and in health. In good times and bad.
I repeat each line. In my head, I change some of the quiet church words into the real ones I know.
In war and in peace. In blood and in sleep. In boardrooms and back alleys. In blast zones and in kitchens.
Then it’s her turn.
Her voice is steady. Clear. She says my name like it belongs to her mouth. It does.
When we are done, the priest asks for the rings.
Nadia steps forward. Her hand shakes a little as she holds out the small cushion. Both bands lie there. Mine is a plain heavy ring, the kind of thing that will sit on my hand when I sign deals and men will know it means something they cannot touch. Hers is my mother’s ring, polished, sized to her finger, warmed by days on her hand already.
I take hers. She takes mine.
The priest nods. “Place the ring and speak your promise,” he says.
I slide the ring back onto her finger, over the one that is already there so everyone can see it. My voice is low, but it carries.
“With this ring, I bind my life to yours,” I say. I do not read from any paper. These words are mine. “Everything I own, everything I control, everything I have done, I put in your hands. I will stand in front of you when there is fire. I will stand behind you when you need space. I will stand beside you when we raise our daughter. There is no part of my life that is not yours now. No house. No account. No secret. Nothing.”
Her eyes fill.
She slips my ring on.
“With this ring,” she says, “I take your name and everything that comes with it. The white parts and the dark parts. The power and the price. I will hold your mind when it tries to drown itself. I will hold your hands when they want to break everything. I will hold your heart when the old ghosts pull at it. I will raise your daughter with you. I will not run unless I’m running beside you, and I will always leave a path for you to find me.”
Her voice cracks on the last few words. She swallows. I feel something hot move behind my eyes.
The priest smiles a little now.
“You have spoken your vows,” he says. “You have exchanged rings. In the eyes of the church and the state, you are husband and wife.”
He makes the sign over us. His hand shakes. Maybe he is old. Maybe this means something to him too.
“You may kiss the bride,” he says.
I don’t need to be told twice.
I take her face in both hands and kiss her. It isn’t a quick brush or for show. It’s slow and deep and full of every word I did not say into the microphone of her prison. I feel her hands curl in my jacket as her body leans into mine. The room blurs for a second. When we pull apart, there is quiet. Then someone starts to clap. Then everyone does. Nadia cheers, loud and clear. “Mama is really Mama now,” she says. “And Papa is really Papa.”
The words undo me.
My vision blurs. I blink, hard. One tear slips down before I can stop it. I feel it on my cheek. Raina sees it and lifts her hand to wipe it away with her thumb.
“It’s done,” she whispers.
“It’s begun,” I answer.
