Completely.
A small setup fills the foyer.
A round table set neatly with plates and cutlery.
Golden candelabras flicker softly, their light dancing against the walls.
Bouquets of fresh flowers—white, blush, soft reds—spread across the space, their scent light but present.
A few balloons float lazily above, tied down with thin ribbons that sway with the air.
And the table is covered with food. She gasps.
“Timofey…what is this?”
I let out a quiet laugh, watching her take it in.
“I had it set up while we were at the beach,” I say simply.
Her eyes flick to mine.
“I want you to relax tonight,” I add. “No stress. No thinking about anything waiting for us back there.”
For a second, she just looks at me.
Then she steps forward and wraps her arms around me tightly.
I freeze for half a heartbeat—
Then hold her just as firmly.
We pull apart, and I guide her to the table.
I help her sit, then take my own seat across from her.
She doesn’t hesitate.
She starts eating immediately.
And I just sit there for a moment—watching her.
The way her shoulders relax.
The way she hums softly under her breath after the first bite, like she didn’t realize how hungry she was.
The way the candlelight catches her face, softer now…lighter than I’ve ever seen it.
Something shifts in my chest.
No—
Something cracks.
The walls I’ve kept in place for years—carefully built, deliberately reinforced—they don’t shatter. But they give. Just enough.
I lean back slightly in my chair, my gaze still fixed on her as she laughs quietly at something—nothing, probably. Just the moment.
And it hits me.
