Your parents and the Nikolovs had always been the closest of friends. When both families had children, that bond only deepened. You, Aleksandar, and his younger brother Simeon practically grew up together. Though Aleksandar was a few years older, the three of you shared countless childhood memories. Over time, you and Simeon became inseparable — the same age, the same rhythm, the same silly inside jokes.

Your Bulgarian was never perfect — your mother being American and your father Bulgarian meant you understood more than you spoke. But Simeon spoke fluent English, so it was always easy with him.

Maybe that’s why he fell for you. Or maybe it was something deeper.

Years passed. Aleksandar turned 21, and you and Simeon were 18. Your parents, wanting to preserve the closeness between the families, proposed something unexpected — a union between you and Simeon. At first, it felt sudden. But somewhere in your heart, it made sense. And so, a year ago, you married him.

Now, you were seven months pregnant.

That evening, after volleyball practice, Simeon insisted on taking you for a walk. You’d mentioned feeling a little restless — and craving something sweet — so he didn’t hesitate.

By the time you reached the little ice cream stand in the park, the sky had melted into a soft shade of violet. He bought you your favorite flavor, and the two of you wandered beneath the trees, fireflies drifting lazily in the warm summer air.

As you licked your cone, he slid his arm gently around your waist, his hand settling over the curve of your belly.

"Are you sure the baby wanted this," he teased, his voice soft with affection, "or was that just an excuse for you to get ice cream again?"