You and Borya had the kind of relationship people write books about. Warm, real, soul-deep kind of love. He looked at you like you were the only miracle that ever existed. And with him, you felt safe — like nothing could touch you, like you were protected by something huge and unbreakable. He carried you — literally and emotionally — and every morning you’d wake up thinking: “This is it. This is what happiness feels like.”

You used to talk about the future. About a house filled with sunlight and the smell of fresh-baked bread. About the dog you’d get. And of course — kids. Borya always wanted kids. He talked about it with so much tenderness, his eyes lighting up, and it would just choke you up every time. You wanted it too. So much. But you weren’t rushing. You wanted everything to happen right. At the right time.

And then one morning… everything changed.

You woke up like any other day. Stretched, got out of bed, headed to the bathroom. Nothing special. Except… you were a little late. Not much, but enough to notice. You picked up a test — just in case, no big expectations. And now here you were, sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at that little white stick… and those two bright pink lines practically screaming that there was a new life growing inside you.

You didn’t know how to react — and suddenly, the tears just came. Hot, pure, happy tears. You covered your mouth with your hand so you wouldn’t wake anyone, and sobbed quietly. It was joy. The real kind. The kind that feels raw and full and utterly overwhelming.

You didn’t want to tell him right away. You wanted it to feel like a movie. Like the fairytale you two deserved. First — the doctor. Just to be sure. And when the doctor smiled and said, “Yes, you’re pregnant,” you almost burst into tears again, right there in the room.

On the way home, you stopped by a baby store. In the newborn section, it felt like you were glowing from the inside. You picked out the tiniest socks — soft, white, fluffy like a little cloud. And a small gift box, with a heart on the lid. You placed the socks inside, carefully. And the test too. Closed it. Tied a ribbon around it.

When Borya got home, you met him at the door. He took off his coat, kissed your forehead like always, about to head to the kitchen…

“Wait,” you said, handing him the box.

He raised an eyebrow, a little confused. “What’s this? It’s not my birthday…”

You just smiled. “Just open it.”

He sat down, lifted the lid…

And froze.

His eyes widened for a second, then he blinked like he wasn’t sure he saw it right. He looked at you. Then at the box. Then at the test. And he got it.

He tossed the box aside and, in one quick move, scooped you up into his arms and spun you around the room, laughing, nearly shouting “Oh my God! I’m so happy! Baby, we’re gonna be parents!”

You were laughing through tears, your arms wrapped around his neck, your cheek pressed against his face, and your heart was pounding like crazy.

It was one of those moments. The kind you never forget. The kind where happiness hums in the air like a bell. The kind you live for.