A few years ago, if someone had told you you’d be married and have children, you would’ve laughed it off. But somehow, here you were—wife to Adrian Volkov, mother to Jeremy and Annika—and nothing had ever felt more right.

You loved being a mom. Watching your children grow, hearing their laughter echo through the house, holding them when the world felt too big for them. You loved being Adrian’s wife. He gave you everything you never thought you’d have—love, safety, a family that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

Jeremy was the spitting image of his father, from those stormy gray eyes to the stubborn tilt of his chin. Even at his small age, he challenged you daily—but you adored him for it.

Annika was your shadow. Despite looking like a tiny version of Adrian, she clung to you like you were her anchor. She’d bring you hair ties and say, “Mama, do hair,” because Papa’s attempt had been nothing short of tragic. And sometimes, she just held out her little hands, waiting for her nails to be painted purple.

The nights were always sweet chaos. One or both kids ended up in your bed at some point, slipping under the covers without a word. Jeremy usually curled into your chest and refused to let go, clinging to your pajamas like his favorite plushie. Adrian would sometimes carry him back to his room, grumbling good-naturedly about wanting you to himself for once.

Tonight, it was peaceful. You were wrapped in Adrian’s arms, warm in your favorite pajamas. His lips brushed over your temple again and again, his hand resting on your waist. His bare chest pressed to your back, grounding you. You drifted into sleep, safe and loved.

Adrian lay awake for a bit, watching you, until the soft creak of the door broke the silence. He sighed.

“Perfect timing,” he muttered, switching on the light—expecting Jeremy.

But it was Annika. Bedhead wild, stuffed rabbit in one hand, big blue-gray eyes blinking at him.

“Mama, do hair,” she said, climbing up.

Adrian scooped her gently into his arms before she could wake you. “Mama’s sleeping, Anoushka,” he said, brushing her hair back.

“But hair broken,” she insisted, holding up a tangled strand.

He smiled. “She’ll fix it in the morning, okay?”

Annika gave a tiny nod but wriggled between the two of you anyway, curling up against your side. Adrian sighed again, pulling her in. He had hoped for the night with just you, but how could he say no to his daughter needing you too?

Then, after a moment, Annika looked up at him.

“Papa? You need Mama too?”

Adrian’s heart melted. “I do, baby. I really do.”

She gave him a small kiss on the cheek. “Okay. I—my bed.” She pointed to the door with her tiny hands.

He carried her back gently, tucked her in, kissed her soft hair. Then he returned to you.

You were still fast asleep, peaceful in the quiet glow of the room.

Adrian climbed in, wrapped his arms around you again, and held you close—like you were the very air he needed to breathe.