It takes a second for my eyes to adjust but when they do, everything else around me disappears.
Leo sits on a carpeted floor, his knees tucked neatly beneath him, his little body folded in that familiar way kids settle when they’re completely absorbed in their own world. In front of him is a short wooden table, just the right height for him, and spread across it is a train set.
He’s leaning forward, pushing the engine with a small hand, watching with narrowed focus as it chugs along the wooden path. His lips are moving, whispering something to himself, maybe sound effects or a quiet story only he knows.
A woman sits next to him, cross-legged, a few feet to his left. She watches him with a quiet smile. One hand is resting on the curve of her belly, rounded with pregnancy. Her other hand hovers close to Leo, protective without being overbearing.
She doesn’t look like a guard or a nurse. There’s no fear in her expression, just serenity.
The air in my lungs freezes, clenched tight and sharp behind my ribs. I don’t move. I don’t evenbreathe.
My child is here.
Alive.
Real.
Leo’s sitting in a shaft of golden light, and for a moment it feels like I’m looking at something sacred.
His hair is the same as it’s always been—soft and unruly with that stubborn little cowlick at his crown that never quite lays flat no matter how I tried to smooth it when hewas younger. It makes his hair puff slightly at the top like he’s just woken from a nap. Familiar.Endearing. I used to press my lips to that spot when I carried him to bed when he was still a toddler.
His cheeks are flushed a healthy, rosy pink. His eyes are clear, wide with curiosity. His clothes are clean, not a wrinkle in sight and buttoned correctly. His shirt is tucked where it should be, the sleeves rolled just once at the cuffs from the touch of someone who knows children’s comfort and has taken the time to make sure he can play without constraint.
And most important of all, no bruises. No marks. No scabs half-healed from violence. No swelling under his eyes, no limped posture, no hunch to his shoulders that might hint at the weight of fear being pressed into his tiny bones.
Mikhail’s been true to his word. He’s been kept safe.
A tremor runs through my limbs as my body starts to catch up with the moment. Emotion coils in my throat so tight I can barely swallow it down. Tears blur my vision, heat spilling into my chest and rushing up the back of my neck.
He looks up then, as if sensing me, his little fingers still curled around the wooden train car mid-motion. His hand hangs frozen in the air, his gaze locks on mine, and for a heartbeat, time stops.
His mouth opens just slightly. He blinks once, twice. “Mama?”
The word is soft, unsure, disbelieving. It punches the air from my lungs.
I stumble forward a step, a sob tearing loose from my throat.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, baby, it’s me.”
Leo pushes the train aside and scrambles to his feet, his movements frantic and ungraceful. A laugh bubbles up from my chest as he barrels toward me. I drop to my knees just in time to catch him.
He crashes into me with his full weight, his arms flinging around my neck, his small body colliding with mine in a burst of warmth and life. My arms close around him instantly, instinctively, greedily. I crush him against me, my face buried in his shoulder. My hands roam his back as if to memorize every inch of his tiny body I thought I’d never touch again.
He squeezes me. “I missed you so much, Mama!”
“I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay, I’m here,” I whisper. The words tremble out of my mouth until they become something like an oath. Tears come hot. They soak into his hair and warm my cheeks.
He smells like soap and the faintest hint of whatever detergent they’ve used on his clothes.
I cry then.Hard. It’s the kind of cry that comes from the deepest part of your soul. The kind that breaks you wide open because the relief is too much to bear. I sob until my whole body shakes and I rock him against me. He clings just as tightly, his fists buried in the fabric at my back.
“I missed you,” he whispers.
“I missed you more,” I say, my voice shattering.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his small hands coming up to touch my cheeks. He frowns. “You’re crying.”
“I’m happy,” I manage. “These are happy tears, I promise.”
