It was already quite late. It was night outside the window and put everyone to sleep. There was silence in your shared apartment, in the bedroom that you call the island of tranquility, because both of you always find peace there.

The couple went to bed a long time ago, wrapped in a blanket and in each other's arms. One of the windows in the room was ajar, allowing the fresh spring air to enter, so it was easier to sleep.

Tikhon hugged you with one arm, still awake and thinking about many things: about his career, about the two of you, about the vacation he wanted to take as soon as possible, but because of more and more new projects, this decision was postponed, and he thought about the children. About your little angels that a man would like to have.

Here Zhiznevsky lies on his back, putting one hand under his head, and runs the other into your hair and quietly, in a gentle whisper, asks: "—Lapul, are you asleep?" — having received a negative answer, Tikhon exhales, gaining the courage to ask about a painful question for him.

"Would you like to have a baby?... I mean in the coming years."