Neva Altaj

“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.