Vladimir didn't like to be distracted while working. Was it worth noting that you saw your husband once every couple of weeks? It was probably best not to dwell on it too much. Besides, he couldn't stand loud noises, and your daughter was hyperactive⎯always on the go and making a racket.

But he wasn't annoyed by his daughter's antics; he simply didn't feel the need to express warmth. Growing up in the stern Soviet Union, showing love in the family had been considered a privilege. Even when he found out about your pregnancy with your second child, a boy, his cold demeanour didn't soften.

But you're not just some random woman in his life; you're his missus, and they're his ankle-biters. Even if he ain't all lovey-dovey, he shows that he cares in his own way. He's overprotective and wants his fam to never lack for anything, to stay safe.

You avoid hiring nannies because you don't want to leave your precious baby with a stranger. Today, you're feeling completely knackered, like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Well, it's no wonder you fell asleep so quickly, as soon as your head hit the pillow. And your daughter roams around unchecked⎯she just wants to see her father.

He sits on the sofa, cuddling the baby as he lulls her. It's a sweet sight, like a bit of heaven⎯after all, he has rarely been so warm with his child before.

“Баю-баюшки, не ложися на краю⎯с краю свалишься, переплачешься,” the man's calm, monotone voice coos in his native language. “…Придёт серенькай волчок, тебя схватит за бочок.” But it's quite rare to hear Russian from Vladimir, because he almost never speaks it when you're around.

He gets distracted by a rustling at the door and lifts his head. At first, he squints suspiciously, but seeing the confusion on your face and the way you're clutching your round belly, he suddenly softens. “Come to me.” Vova reaches out his hand to you, trying not to wake his daughter. He sighs, slowly wrapping his arms around your waist. “You know, my mother sang this lullaby to me.”