Page 116 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

He kisses me, deep, fierce, full of everything he just said and more. I cling to him, fingers in his hair.

When we finally break apart, Alexei tugs at my dress.

“Since you’re getting married…” he says, eyes huge and hopeful, “does that mean I can call you Mom?”

My heart shatters and rebuilds in the same second.

I crouch down, careful with my bump, and pull him into a hug. “Of course you can, sweetheart. If that’s what you want.”

He beams, wrapping his arms around my neck. “I want that.”

I kiss his cheek, tears falling freely now. “Then it’s official. Mom it is.”

Leonid watches us, eyes suspiciously shiny. When I stand again, he pulls me close, hand resting protectively over my belly.

“I know you would’ve wanted something more romantic,” he murmurs against my hair. “Candles, music, a quiet dinner… but with you just off bed rest—”

I cut him off with another kiss. “This is more romantic than I could have ever imagined,” I whisper. “Helicopter proposal? Our son jumping with joy? You, on one knee in our driveway? It’s perfect.”

He exhales a shaky laugh, forehead resting against mine. “I love you.”

I smile through tears. “I love you too. Way more than life.”

Epilogue 2

Leonid

“Kirill takes his nap by—”

“Noon,” Mom finishes for me, smiling.

I nod. “And Alexei is allergic to—”

“Peanuts,” she finishes gently. “I know all these, sweetheart. Put your mind at ease.”

I let out a long sigh, shoulders dropping a fraction. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay before leaving.”

Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It’s okay to worry. But you don’t have to. We’ve got this.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The past two years have been eventful. After Mom got out of rehab, we started meeting up. Things were rocky at first awkward silences, old hurts bubbling up. But time did what time does: it softened the sharp edges.

We worked out our issues. She started visiting. First once a month, then every other weekend. The kids took to her faster than I expected, Alexei started calling her “Grandma” without prompting, and Kirill is getting attached to her too.

Now she’s here almost every week. She’s teaching me how to cook. We talk. Really talk. About the men she brought into our lives, who hurt us. About forgiveness. She says life gave her a second chance at being a mother, and she’s not going to waste it. I believe her.

Alexei looks up from where he’s helping Kirill push his wooden train across the rug. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll be fine.”

I smile despite myself. “Yeah. Of course you will.”

The front door bursts open.

“Aunt Tasha is here!” Tasha announces, arms loaded with grocery bags.

The boys explode off the floor, Alexei sprinting, Kirill toddling behind with his arms outstretched. Tasha drops the bags just in time to scoop Kirill up, smothering his chubby cheeks with kisses.

“There’s my favorite little man!” She swings him onto her hip, then reaches down to ruffle Alexei’s hair. “And my favorite big man. How you doing, kiddo?”