Neva Altaj

“Your father would never kill a man because of me, you know.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, Mom.”

“No, honey. It isn’t,”

“Marry me,” he says, “and I’ll stop the war.”

“Lenochka . . .” Mikhail says from behind me and steps inside.

“Daddy!” The girl squeals in delight, her lips widening in a huge grin as she runs and jumps into Mikhail’s arms.

I watch in awe while he gathers her up and places a kiss on her cheek and then on her forehead, his hand caressing the back of her head the whole time. Mikhail has a child. I’m still processing the fact when she leans in and kisses him on the eyepatch, giggling, and Mikhail smiles.

I can’t stop staring, amazed at the transformation I’m witnessing. It seems like a completely different person took his place. And it’s not just the smile. The posture of his body is different, relaxed. The way he’s looking at her with such warmth . . . this man has nothing in common with the cold, controlled one I married yesterday.

I can’t stop watching him.

It amazes me the way Mikhail interacts with his daughter. He never ignores her questions, no matter how silly they may seem. How affectionate he is with her. One of her pigtails came loose at some point this afternoon, and she came to him to fix it. I couldn’t take my eyes off his huge hands as he carefully tied her hair. There is so much love in every single act.

I feel a light touch on my cheek—there one moment, and gone the next. I keep my eyes closed, pretending I didn’t notice it. A few moments pass, then I feel a tug on my hair as he removes the hair tie binding my braid, and the strands fall loose. Nothing else happens at first, and I wonder if that’s all he planned to do. Then his fingers start combing through my hair. He is still reading but keeps playing with my hair, and I lean my head back into his touch. And his voice . . . it feels like a caress by itself. He has an accent, I realize. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I love it.

Yesterday, Lena said that one of her friends brought cookies to the day care class, and she talked about them for twenty minutes, describing the different shapes and flavors. She asked Mikhail if he would make her cookies, so she can take them to class as well. The look on his face was priceless

He reminds me of a panther—big, black, and seemingly relaxed—but I have a feeling that underneath all that composure and calm, there is a beast

“I will make a cake. With chocolate.” She grins and looks over at me. “Do you like chocolate? Daddy doesn’t like chocolate, but he will eat the cake if I make it. I love chocolate, but Daddy says it’s bad for my teeth.”

Bianca tilts her head and all that hair slides from her back to the side, and a few locks end up touching the floor tiles. I bend and gather her hair with my left hand, lifting it off the floor. Bianca looks up at me, and then to my hand holding the silky strands. She smiles a little and goes back to pointing out dresses to Lena.

At one point, Lena complained she was tired, so Mikhail scooped her up. He never let go of my hand as he carried her on his left hip, and my ovaries almost exploded as I stole glances of him holding Lena so naturally on his side