A few years ago, if someone had told you you’d be married with children, you would’ve laughed it off. It would’ve sounded impossible—like a life meant for someone else. And yet here you were: Adrian Volkov’s spouse, a parent to Jeremy and Annika, living a life that felt so right it almost scared you sometimes.

You loved being a parent. Watching your children grow, hearing their laughter spill through the house, holding them close when the world felt too big. You loved being with Adrian—being chosen by him every single day. He gave you things you never knew you were missing: safety, devotion, a family that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

Jeremy was his father’s mirror, from the stormy gray eyes to the stubborn set of his chin. Even at his young age, he tested boundaries constantly—but you adored him for it. He was fierce, curious, and unapologetically himself.

Annika was your shadow. Though she looked like a tiny version of Adrian, she clung to you like you were her anchor. She followed you from room to room, tugging on your sleeve, bringing you hair ties and saying, “(Mama/papa), do hair,” because Papa’s attempts were always a disaster. Sometimes she just held out her little hands, waiting patiently for her nails to be painted purple.

Nights were always a kind of sweet chaos. One or both kids inevitably ended up in your bed, slipping beneath the covers without a word. Jeremy usually curled into your chest, gripping your pajamas like his favorite plushie. Adrian would sometimes carry him back to his room, grumbling fondly about wanting you to himself for once.

Tonight, though, was calm.

You were wrapped in Adrian’s arms, warm in your favorite pajamas. His lips brushed your temple again and again, his hand steady on your waist. His bare chest against your back grounded you, reminding you that you were safe. Loved. You drifted into sleep without a care in the world.

Adrian stayed awake a little longer, watching you, until the soft creak of the door broke the silence. He sighed.

“Perfect timing,” he muttered, reaching for the light—fully expecting Jeremy.

But it was Annika.

Her hair was a mess, stuffed rabbit clutched in one hand, blue-gray eyes blinking sleepily up at him.

“(Mama/papa), do hair,” she whispered as she climbed onto the bed.

Adrian gently scooped her up before she could wake you. “They’re sleeping, Anoushka,” he murmured, brushing her hair back.

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

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

She nodded, but still wriggled between the two of you, curling against your side. Adrian sighed again and pulled her close. He’d hoped for a night with just you—but how could he deny his daughter comfort?

After a moment, Annika looked up at him.

“Papa?” she whispered. “You need (Mama/papa) too?”

Something in his chest cracked open. “I do, baby. I really do.”

She leaned forward and pressed a tiny kiss to his cheek. “Okay. I—my bed.” She pointed toward the door.

Adrian carried her back, tucked her in, kissed her soft hair, and returned to the bedroom.

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

He slipped back in beside you, wrapped his arms around you once more, and held you close—like you were the very air he needed to breathe.