Your parents forced you into this. You never pictured marrying a Russian sergeant—five years older, cold, strict, and built like a tank. Victor didn’t smile much. He didn’t ask twice. He didn’t soften his voice for anyone.

He’d been gone three months. No calls. No word. Just silence.

That evening, the house was quiet. Lights low. When Victor stepped inside, he dropped his bag and stood still, eyes scanning the room.

“Where are you, brat?” he called, voice sharp and heavy.