I woke up —
Nate wasn’t there.
It wasn’t even a thought.
Thoughts come later.
First — a stab.
Precise.
Cold.
Right under the ribs,
as if something important
had been quietly taken out of my body
and never put back.
Oh my God…
why isn’t he here with me.
Nothing in the room had changed.
Nothing.
The same light.
The same silence.
The same morning.
But the light was no longer Light.
It became just light.
Illumination.
A function.
A lamp.
The luxurious sheets beneath me
lost their softness.
Not abruptly —
but the way fabric fades
when it’s left too long in the sun.
The hand embroidery
suddenly became just a pattern,
not the touch of hands.
Without him,
everything turned dry.
Muted.
Like emptiness, beautifully arranged.
Why isn’t he here.
Why isn’t he here with me.
My body understood it before my mind did.
My mind was still searching for explanations,
but my body had already lost its support.
It tightened.
Braced itself.
As if the floor beneath my feet
had shifted just slightly to the side.
Panic didn’t overwhelm me.
It began to rise.
Slowly.
From my belly.
From my chest.
Oh my God where is Nate why why isn’t he here
Quiet, quiet — maybe he just stepped away,
a soft voice said.
And I felt the light stroke my shoulder.
I curled up and hid under the blanket,
trying to shelter my heart,
to cover it with fabric
so the pain would quiet down right away.
Ever since I made the decision to open my heart,
everything has become too open, too vulnerable.
Now my heart is raw,
without skin.
All of it — this hunger —
made me cling to Nate, literally.
I could hold him all day —
his arms, his shoulders, his back —
and it still wasn’t enough.
I didn’t have enough of him.
Not nearly enough.
And I was afraid of becoming clingy,
of becoming too much for him,
of eventually just annoying him —
and then he would reject me.
Brrr.
A nightmare.
“Don’t blame yourself. You need to replenish a deficit,”
the soft voice said quietly and evenly,
almost lulling.
I nodded slowly.
I didn’t even realize right away that I was nodding —
my neck just made the movement on its own.
As if I were watching myself from the outside.
“I’ve probably already worn him out with my clinginess,”
I covered my face with my hands.
“Yes, you look pathetic,”
Hades was precise, as always.
No emotion.
Just barbed accuracy.
“Get lost. Shoo.”
“It’s okay. If something’s wrong, he’ll say so,”
the soft voice returned.
Warm.
Steady.
Right.
I nodded again, consciously this time.
Placed my palm on my chest.
“Come on, Nazokat. This is unfamiliar to us,
but that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”
I felt the tension in my shoulders ease slightly.
Not disappear —
just stop pressing.
“Don’t force it. Look at the facts.”
My body was still alert,
but no longer clenched into a knot.
I stayed under the blanket,
but I stopped hiding.
And then Sophie came in.
“Hi.”
I jumped in surprise.
“Hi.”
My curls spilled over my shoulders on their own,
softly, heavily,
as if they needed space too.
My heart was still pounding,
and a cold trace lingered in my chest.
“How are you? Everything okay?”
“Uh— yeah, yeah, just—”
I automatically tucked my hair behind my ears,
trying to pull myself together.
“Yes. Everything’s fine.
Please give me twenty minutes.”
“I need to shower.”
“Of course,”
she smiled softly and stepped out,
as if she had closed behind her
not a door,
but excess noise.
I exhaled
and went into the shower.
I washed quickly.
Not even washed —
I just let the water do its thing.
It ran over my shoulders,
my back,
my collarbones,
and carried away everything unnecessary:
the remnants of cold,
anxiety,
the stab,
the sharpness of my inner characters,
their barbs,
the tension,
the clenched jaws.
I wrapped myself in a towel.
Went up to the mirror.
Looked at myself —
slightly damp,
present and real.
“There you go,”
I winked at my reflection.
“Not lost anymore.”
Today I didn’t want to dress up at all.
No effort.
No image.
No “I should.”
Just to be.
A knock.
“Yes?” I turned at the knock.
“Sweetheart…” —
warmth spread through my chest.
“Hey.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
The door opened,
and he reached for me right away, almost without looking.
“Good morning.”
I broke into a smile,
my body thawed — God, how I love this guy.
“Hi, sweetheart,”
he rubbed his nose against my hair, slowly, lazily.
I felt my cheeks warm.
“You’re so sweet…”
“Nate…”
“Mmm?”
I hesitated. Just a little.
It wasn’t doubt —
more like vulnerability.
“Am I too much with all this love?”
“No.”
He said it immediately. No pause.
Still, I held my breath.
“Sweetheart, honestly…
this is my favorite version of you.”
My eyes went wide and I laughed.
“Oh, you’re shameless.
Enjoying my helplessness and your power?”
“Yes.”
“You’re impossible,”
and I splashed him with water.
He laughed — wide, easy —
and stepped even closer,
until the space between us closed in again.
Desire rose instantly.
At that moment Sophie walked in.
“Oh… I’m sorry…”
Nate smiled —
that same sly, satisfied smile.
“Shameless,” I said, laughing.
“Sophie, come in. He’s leaving.”
And I nudged him toward the door.
Nate resisted reluctantly, then stepped back anyway,
throwing me a look —
one that promised continuation.
And the room became calm again.
Warm.
Like home.
Sophie and I chatted about this and that —
about the house,
about how she’s managing these periodic invasions of kids from the nursery.
Formally, they have their own kitchen.
But in reality —
they’re constantly running to us.
Running in, hanging out with the adults,
as if it’s important for them to be close.
What can you say — they’re kids. You don’t turn kids away.
Sophie talked about it calmly, with a smile —
no complaints, no tension.
Kindly.
That’s how people talk who’ve already accepted this chaos with love
and don’t want to live any other way.
I listened, nodded,
feeling a quiet warmth spreading inside:
the house was breathing,
alive,
funny,
noisy —
and very real.
I laughed, remembering Jonathan.
The kids adore Jonathan, especially the girls.
Always so composed, always with his laptop.
And around him —
and on his head — sat little girls.
Literally.
They were on his papers,
on the table,
on the windowsill,
everywhere.
As if his office wasn’t a workspace,
but their personal territory.
Sometimes they even come to him for nap time.
They run into the office,
settle right on the floor
and fall asleep —
calmly, trustingly,
the way you only sleep where it’s safe.
“Jonathan, sweetheart,
your charm is getting out of hand,”
I joked.
He looked up at me.
Still composed.
Still in that mode of his:
“I’m holding myself together
because I have to be strong.”
His shoulders were in place.
His back straight.
His face — mature, responsible.
And at the same time —
deeply happy.
Jonathan is incredibly caring.
And he adores order.
Clear folders.
Neat stacks.
Perfect lines.
And that’s exactly why
it felt especially tender.
All his papers and documents
were covered in glitter and little flowers.
As if someone had passed through his system
with small children’s hands
and left their traces behind.
The latest report was written
on pink paper.
He bought an entire pack.
Not a single sheet —
a whole pack.
The girls lit up.
And he acted as if
this were the most logical decision in the world.
The office was very quiet.
And yet
everything was unmistakable.
His love
didn’t shout.
It simply was.
In the corner, almost unnoticed,
sat toys.
Barbies.
Soft little bunnies.
They weren’t in the way.
They simply lived there.
There were five more blankets in the closet.
As if it had suddenly become clear
that warmth, too,
is part of order.
And there was more food.
A lot more.
Everywhere.
In drawers, on shelves, in boxes.
All kinds of useful things,
treats,
something “for later,”
something “just in case.”
For those who adore him.
For those who run in.
For those who get tired.
For those who simply want to be close.
And in this space
he was still strong.
Still adult.
Still composed.
But now
his strength
breathed with love.
I remembered a moment
when that great SFO of his
had to urgently buy a new suit —
on the way to a meeting.
Even though Jonathan hates
any disruption of schedule
and unpredictability.
The girls had decorated everything in his closet:
glitter, lipstick, tiny handprints —
not a single item survived.
He never scolds them.
No matter what they do.
He chooses gentleness every time.
Jonathan is forty-three…
Is that really too late for love?
He could have children.
“That’s not your business,”
Hades said dryly.
“And neither is it yours,”
I snorted back, sticking my tongue out at him.
“He’s boring. Kids wouldn’t love him.”
“That’s not true.
They love him.
He would be a very good father.”
“Yes… if there were a woman beside him,”
a cautious voice inside added.
I thought about it.
That was an important remark.
Jonathan alone would hardly be able
to understand a child right away.
He’s too rational.
But with a woman’s hand —
he could.
And then my thoughts took me by the hand.
Jonathan has a daughter.
He lets her do anything.
She’s capricious.
Sometimes unbearable.
Spoiled — almost comically so.
And… the most beloved in the world.
He buys her everything she wants.
Sweets — without limits.
Her teeth suffer from candy,
and he pretends not to notice.
Or maybe he does notice —
but he’s afraid to take her to the doctor,
because he wouldn’t survive her tears.
Because he’s not ready to be the one
who allowed her pain.
She sleeps wrapped around him.
Warm.
Sticky with the heaviness of children’s sleep.
And she whispers:
“When I grow up, I’m going to marry you.”
He doesn’t answer.
He just holds her tighter.
She brushes his hair,
because Daddy “understands nothing about beauty,”
and she understands everything.
He nods.
With the obedience of someone
who is happy to be a student.
She advises him on what to wear
so he’ll definitely look handsome.
Later, she’ll start teaching him
that some jokes aren’t appropriate,
that he’s an adult
and should look respectable.
And then she’ll learn
how to get him ready for work.
He’ll sit across from her —
as always handsome,
composed.
She’ll bring over a little stool,
stand in front of him,
take a bit of hair gel:
“Just a little, Dad.”
She’ll comb.
Part his hair.
Fix a stray strand.
“Okay… and here too.
Perfect.”
Now the tie.
“Here.
No, wait.
This is better.
Done.”
“Daddy, you’re the most handsome.”
And she’ll throw herself around his neck,
clinging with her arms,
as if she’s afraid
he might disappear
if she lets go.
Jonathan will smile.
And hug her.
Sophie will gently take her away:
“It’s time for kindergarten.”
And Jonathan will stay in the bathroom
for a little while longer.
Alone.
Sitting on the edge.
Trying to gather himself.
And quietly, almost without words,
praying God would let her
never grow up.
Tears began to fall, one after another.
Everyone inside me suddenly grew sad.
I wiped my tears with my palm —
the way little children do
when it’s painful
and embarrassing to cry at the same time.
“Breathe, Nazokat.
Gently.”
And then Hades…
completely broke down in tears.
Like a diva.
Loud, ugly, with sobs, snorts, and spit:
“A-a-and we-e-e ne-ver ha-ad a chi-i-ildhood li-i-ike thaaat!”
I rolled my eyes — and pulled myself together at once.
“Guys,” I said,
addressing Pocahontas and Ursula,
“comfort him.”
“Want a cigarette?” Mushu offered.
“No.”
“And what if it’s a boy?”
Hades sniffed,
and suddenly everyone inside me sat down in a circle,
happy for Jonathan.
“That diva calmed down fast,”
Mushu snapped.
And they started fighting.
“Hey, guys!” I laughed.
“What kind of people are you?”
So. If it’s a boy.
A new wave brought new images.
The boy would be his father’s copy.
Collected, almost cold, too rational.
On the outside — support for everyone and everything.
On the inside — sensitive, deeply loving.
He would grow up strong and handsome.
Jonathan would teach him archery
and, of course, insist on a traditional education —
he sincerely believes in it.
But that boy,
under the influence of this whole
“satanic freedom-education system” of Earth Angels,
would still grow up fully alive.
Alive inside.
And one day he would announce
that he wants to be a singer or an artist.
Jonathan’s eyes would go wide —
from horror and confusion,
not knowing what to do with this,
or where he lost the map.
And I, as always,
would comfort him:
stroke his hair — now even more secretly,
because he can’t lose face in front of his son —
and brew his favorite tea.
And then I’d stroke the boy too,
because it’s hard for him
that his father doesn’t understand him.
Sometimes our meals would be tense —
the boy alive and explosive,
his father composed,
determined to keep his face even at the table.
Clashes would happen often.
But in the end
we would all be terribly proud.
Of Jonathan.
And of his son.
And I would cry twice as much.
Because I would have another son.
Which means —
I would be happier by one more child.
“Well, yes, it’s beautiful, mommy,”
Hades drawled,
“but maybe come down from the clouds?
Does the name Meryl mean anything to you?”
My body recoiled.
Not a thought — a bodily jolt.
Like cold air on bare skin.
Brrr.
I never dared to talk to him about Meryl.
As if that name were something sticky:
touch it — it sticks,
say it out loud — it becomes more real.
“I can’t believe he went back to her,”
Hades said with that unpleasant certainty
of someone who has already decided everything inside.
“Maybe it’s not what it looks like…”
“Yeah.
And the Lexus pulling up at three in the morning —
what was that, dropping off jam?”
I pressed my lips together.
That familiar tightness returned in my chest —
not pain, but the tension of waiting for a blow.
“God, I don’t know…
I need to talk to him.
Let him say it straight.”
“And what about the cameras?
Use the reserve,”
Hades smiled predatorily,
almost savoring it.
I grimaced.
“I only do that in extreme cases.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a bore.”
“I don’t want to see him touching Meryl.
Especially…”
Brrrr.
Everyone inside me recoiled too,
as if we’d all seen it for real.
“That’s it, enough.
Antiseptic. Spritz-spritz.”
“Damn, she’s like gangrene,”
Hades savored the word.
“Catch it once — and it never lets go.”
I couldn’t hold it and laughed.
The laugh came out sharp but alive —
a way to dump the tension.
“God, you’re such a pig.”
“Yeah.
Just like you,”
Hades replied contentedly.
We bumped fists,
and I ran on mentally.
Josh actually took the twins and Roman
to meetings.
A nightmare.
They soak up so much there —
ears folding into tubes, brains boiling,
faces serious and focused,
as if they’re not kids
but a tiny board of directors.
I remembered one incident.
They had a real fight — serious, for real —
and instead of the usual childish “you’re stupid yourself,”
actual legal language suddenly came into play.
Clear.
Point by point.
With deliberate pauses.
“I consider your demands unreasonable,”
Carmen began, folding her arms across her chest.
“I object,” Rosie replied immediately.
“You’re ignoring the context and our previous agreements.”
Roman, frowning and focused,
stood between them and calmly added:
“I suggest we return to the facts
and avoid emotions.”
I froze.
At the same time:
— my eye twitched,
— my back tensed,
— and an urgent desire appeared
to give them their normal childhood back. Immediately.
I slowly turned my head and looked at Josh.
He was positively glowing.
Proud.
Satisfied.
With an expression that said:
“Oh yeeeah… that was me. I taught them.”
Not a hint of guilt.
Just pure, masculine satisfaction with the outcome.
Okay — hold on.
This was now very clearly working against me.
Because with argumentation this clear and structured,
it becomes impossible to argue.
Especially when honest children’s eyes look at you
and say:
“I’m willing to discuss a compromise,
as long as the conditions are equal.”
I exhaled, rubbed the bridge of my nose,
and felt everything inside me tighten first —
and then dissolve into laughter.
“Josh,” I said quietly,
“do you realize they’re going to use this against me now?”
He didn’t even flinch.
Just shrugged.
“At least it’ll be reasoned.”
“Nate?” — he was already laughing.
I stood there thinking
that in this house, children grow up too fast.
And that maybe
the next meeting
I’ll have to conduct
either with a lawyer
or at least with a very strong coffee…
“Done,” Sophie said, finishing my hair.
“Oh!” — I came back from my thoughts
as if surfacing after being underwater.
“Wow… thank you so much.”
I looked at myself in the mirror:
soft curls and a few hairpins made of fresh flowers.
So beautiful.
I kissed her on the cheek and we headed for the stairs.
Already in the corridor,
I suddenly noticed smiles around me.
Restrained. Conspiratorial.
Okay… what’s going on here?
We went down to the dining room.
“Miss…” one of the maids inclined her head slightly.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Miss, please come to the kitchen.”
“What? Why do I need to go to the kitchen?”
I even threw my head back in horror.
“I don’t want to deal with problems — let Nate handle it…”
But she insisted.
I had no choice.
I put on a polite smile and walked into the kitchen.
And there, at the stove — Nate.
A smile instantly spread across my face like a smiley.
“Nate?! What?!”
“Are you crazy… are you cooking?!”
My jaw nearly dropped.
“What, are you blind? Can’t you see?”
Hades.
“You’re unbelievable,” I laughed. “Shoo. Shoo.”
It smelled so good.
And Nate was so beautiful.
So at home.
So real.
Suddenly I felt embarrassed —
I didn’t even know he could cook.
And here we are — with three kids.
Nate turned back to the stove, stirring something —
confidently, calmly,
like someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.
I came up and hugged him from behind.
He kissed my hand — slowly, warmly.
“Sweetheart… one more second.”
“Okay.”
I sat down to wait.
The staff stood around almost at attention,
all of them barely holding back smiles.
Not mockery — joy.
I suddenly felt so warm
that my chest started to sting.
It seems they really are happy for us.
I nodded.
“You may go. We’ll manage ourselves.”
They all bowed slightly and quietly left.
The gas was turned off.
The dish was ready.
Hooray.
But…
Who even cares about the dish
when Nate is in a T-shirt and pajama pants?
I walked up and started kissing him.
“Sweetheart…” he smiled.
“Won’t you even taste it?”
“I will,” I purred.
“But just a tiny bit later…”
I missed him terribly.
He kissed me back,
and my head started spinning again —
not sharply, but softly,
as if I’d been lifted just a little off the floor.
“You’re so sweet…”
In his arms it felt
like I was somewhere in paradise.
Not loud, not blinding —
but quiet, warm,
where nothing needs to be proven.
“Sweetheart…”
“Mmm?”
“The kids are going to the farm,
to see the deer.
Do you want to come too?”
I immediately grew serious.
“Wait…
but don’t you have the Japanese meeting today?”
He waved it off lightly, almost without thinking,
and wiped his hands on a towel.
“The senior team and everyone else are handling it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. They’re doing so well
that I’m just keeping my finger on the pulse.”
My eyes widened.
God, how proud I was of Nate.
I remembered what he used to be like.
He carried everything himself —
as if there were no other way.
It was as if the world was carried on his back,
and if he let go for even a second — everything would fall apart.
He checked every detail.
Every number.
Every step.
Every “what if.”
He worked at night. He worked during the day.
On holidays.
On weekends.
In the hours when others allowed themselves life,
he allowed himself nothing but responsibility.
Wherever you looked —
he was always at work.
Even when he was nearby.
Even when he was silent.
Even when he smiled —
inside, he was still holding on.
And how wonderful it is
that “shark mode” cleaned out the staff
and put management back on its feet.
“So… you’re all mine now?”
He lit up instantly.
For a moment, it even seemed like he was embarrassed.
“Sweetheart…”
“Hey,”
I tossed a piece of pancake into my mouth.
“This is new for me too,”
he went on.
“Just living. Not rushing anywhere.”
I panicked.
Oh my God.
Now he’s going to say the thrill is gone.
That he’s done.
That we’ll be left.
That we’ve become predictable. Boring.
“AAAAAA!”
Hades clutched his head and ran around like a madman.
Quickie and Mushu tore after him.
I swallowed.
“Are you bored?”
“No.”
He said it at once. Calm.
“I like these pauses…
It’s a different kind of happiness.
A life without rushing.”
“He’s thirty-one
and talks like an old man,”
Hades muttered.
“Hey, grandpa, want a cane?”
He and Mushu high-fived
and burst out laughing like fools.
“Shoo, shoo, leave him alone,” I said.
And I smiled.
Then I kissed him.
“Sweetheart…
sometimes it feels like you don’t exist.
As if you’re not real.”
“What?”
I looked at him, confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Sweetheart…
you’re like a little unicorn.
If I hadn’t met you,
I wouldn’t have believed
women like you even exist.”
I blushed.
Instantly. Childishly.
“God, Nate, what are you even saying…”
He kissed my forehead —
short, gentle,
like putting a period at the end of a sentence.
“You,” he said softly,
“are something very rare.”
I waved it off.
“All women are good.”
“No, sweetheart.
Absolutely not.”
He said it calmly.
Without arguing.
Like a fact.
Something warm inside
curled into a tight little knot.
“So… to the deer?”
I hurriedly changed the subject.
“What? Why?
He was praising us!”
my inner voices stirred indignantly.
“Because that’s not true.
All women are good in their own way.”
They looked at me
with reproach.
“Oh really?
Then name even one man
who isn’t in love with you.”
I rolled my eyes.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
They crossed their arms, displeased.
“God, leave me alone.”
“Want us to list them?”
Hades was already about to start counting on his fingers,
then suddenly bloomed into a malicious grin.
“Or should I remind you
of your favorite school game?”
A jolt of horror ran through me.
“No.
No-no-no.”
I raised my hands in surrender.
“I got it.
That’s it. Enough.”
At that moment Nate gently pulled me back into reality:
“To the deer, sweetheart?”
…..
The dressing room.
“Sweetheart… how do I look?”
How does he look?
I tried to find words.
I looked him up and down.
Nate — smiling, straight out of a men’s catalog.
My favorite shirt.
A sweater over it.
Jeans. Rough boots.
Hazel eyes full of love and trust.
Oh my God.
How does he look.
How do I even say it.
“Don’t cry,”
Hades warned.
But I cried anyway.
Nate rushed to me instantly.
“Sweetheart…”
His voice — soft and strong.
And I cried even harder.
Damn.
How does he look.
I don’t know.
Put him in a robe — I’d still say he’s magnificent.
Love completely clouded my mind.
“And your eyes too,”
Hades added.
Nate waited while I calmed down.
Quietly. Calmly.
No pressure.
“Sweetheart, I love you.”
“Aaaah,” I wailed,
tears already pouring down.
He sat me on the bed.
“I love you.
Very, very much.”
He kept saying it,
stroking my hair.
And something inside me healed.
“Very, very, very much,”
he kept saying,
whispering it again and again.
At some point it became easier.
My mind finally let it in
and allowed it to stay.
And then everything finally let go.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you.”
“That’s not true.”
I just shrugged.
“Sweetheart…”
His eyes lit up.
I tensed.
“Do you want to see my photos?”
I wrinkled my nose.
“What are you talking about? I trust you.”
“I know. But still.”
“Okay. Let’s see.”
I adjusted my stockings
and smoothed my skirt down.
A few photos of us together.
Dogs.
Kids.
A video where the kids talk like lawyers.
Clips of Josh getting drunk
and us drawing a mustache on him
with a permanent marker.
I laughed.
And then he opened an album.
There I was in the bathtub —
drunk myself, asleep.
I flushed all over.
Then a video of me brushing Jonathan’s hair before bed,
softly singing to him
so he could sleep without nightmares.
Then a video of me making faces
while Nate pinches my butt.
A video of me pregnant with the twins,
crying because I was afraid
I’d be a bad mother.
Then more photos.
And more.
And more.
In the end — almost a thousand photos and videos of me.
“Damn, he’s completely into you,”
Hades said.
I froze
and locked the phone.
“Sweetheart…”
He slipped the phone into the pocket of his jeans.
“So who’s into whom now, really?”
I laughed.
“Sweetheart, are you going to change?”
I looked at myself.
“What? No. I’m going in a skirt.”
He shook his head.
I really can’t do it.
I just can’t wear pants around Nate.
My body doesn’t want to.
In pants next to him, I’m not me.
And I want to be open.
Alive.
Feminine down to my fingertips.
On top — a fur jacket.
Light, but warm.
A trail — kissed by the sun.
Not even a scent,
more like a sensation,
as if the sun had just warmed me
and hadn’t let go yet.
In my hand — Nate’s warm hand.
Steady. Calm.
Nothing else is needed.
No extra layer.
No explanations.
No protection.
When someone holds you like this —
by the hand,
by your life,
by this very moment —
that is
the love of the entire world.
“The happiest woman in the world,”
my inner ones wiped away tears of happiness.
God, how I love him.

The garage.
Ahead — a swarm of children.
Noisy, mismatched,
squealing with happiness.
They run, push, laugh —
the whole world suddenly becomes a playground
where everything is allowed.
Nate laughs with them —
for real, wide open.
Lets them into the car park
as if opening the gates to a dream.
The kids scatter instantly,
like a handful of candy spilled on the floor.
They touch everything.
Handles, mirrors, buttons, levers.
They climb into the cars,
lean out,
press all the buttons at once,
without waiting for permission or explanations.
A continuous roar fills the space:
laughter, squeals, shouts,
doors opening,
seat belts clicking,
happy “look-look-look!”
without a single pause to breathe.
They were wildly eager to explore.
To test.
To touch.
To understand how this adult world works —
made of metal, speed, and buttons.
“Oh my God…”
I shake my head.
“You boys are insane.
Why the hell do you need so many cars?”
The car park is divided into sections,
and in this order
each person’s taste is very clear.
Josh’s — sporty, bold,
extravagant to the point of audacity.
Cars that scream: look at me.
Jonathan’s — calm and passionate.
Restrained power.
No noise —
just depth and control.
Cody’s — almost all convertibles.
Wind. Freedom.
Living with the sky above your head.
Mine — just the Alfa Romeo.
And that’s more than enough for me.
Nate drives sports cars,
charged ones.
There are a couple of calm ones too,
but mostly the ones
he bought before everything went dark.
He raises an eyebrow.
Well?
I fold my hands in prayer.
Nate laughs.
“All right.”
And we take the M6.
My favorite.
Charged.
Alive.
Nate opens the door for me —
and there I am,
inside the beast itself.
Meanwhile —
With unhappy faces,
with sighs,
glancing back,
as if the cars might get offended
if you leave too quickly.
The kids climb into the kids’ buses,
grumbling,
but still happy.
Because the choice has been made.
The dream — marked.
Which means
this is just temporary.
And the car park will wait for them.
I laughed out loud.
The M6.
Strangely —
and even a little unexpectedly —
after all the transformations
it was still him.
His car.
Just like the Alfa is for me.
Not a vehicle —
an extension of the body.
A mode.
He glanced back, already in the driver’s seat:
“You know, sweetheart…
we should probably reshuffle the cars a bit.
Maybe sell some
and buy new ones.”
“Maybe,”
I shrugged.
I didn’t want him to spread himself too thin.
I liked
how he kept narrowing his focus.
How he chose less —
but more precisely.
But it was his decision.
And I didn’t interfere.
The BMW M6 added edge
to an already shameless boy.
Under the hood there wasn’t just metal —
there was calibration.
Intent.
I liked
how his mode switched on deep.
As if the car
helped him stay himself,
instead of slipping out.
No glitches.
No adjustments.
I relaxed.
Because predictability
is pleasant.
When a man is in his mode,
not in doubt.
Collected. Strong.
And still a complete troublemaker.
And with the return of his boyish side,
something else came back too.
Fights.
He and Jonathan started getting into fights.
It’s not like Nate hadn’t done that before.
But back then his head always kicked in:
is this appropriate,
what are the consequences,
who’s watching.
Now — no.
Now he jumped in immediately.
No pauses. No negotiations.
If someone said something to me —
or, God forbid, crossed a line —
he was already in it.
And I’ll be honest:
I loved it.
It felt to me
like the same kind of liberation
that I myself experienced
when I opened my heart.
The hunger was too strong.
It needed time
to stabilize.
Just like Nate.
So many years
of holding back.
Convincing himself with logic
when everything inside
was tearing into a fight.
Now,
with the darkness integrated,
decisions were made instantly.
Instincts stripped his mind bare.
And to me
it looked like expansion.
The heat will settle.
Sooner or later
he’ll even out.
But right now —
he’s free.
And eager to reclaim
every time
he had to clench his jaw
instead of striking.
So I’m not against it.
I’m all for it.

The farm.
The farm turned out to be further
than I’d expected.
But it was worth it.
I burst into tears
and immediately felt shy.
What beauty.
So festive.
So cozy.
And the deer —
so kind,
so big.
It felt like a fairytale,
like Santa could step out at any second.
Nate kissed me.
“Sweetheart, all of this is for you.”
I picked up Stitch
and asked Nate to carry the flower.
He smiled.
“As you wish.”
I blushed
and suddenly felt so small
next to such a serious, grown-up Nate.
“Nate…”
“Mmm?”
I whispered into his ear:
“Are you ashamed of me?”
He raised an eyebrow.
I pointed at the flower
and at Stitch.
He smiled.
“No.”
I exhaled.
My heels clicked sharply
on the snow and ice.
I was in heels
and a skirt.
“Sweetheart, you’ll freeze.”
“Yes, that’s why…”
I pulled out a flask.
“Ta-daa.”
He laughed —
the kind of laugh
that warms you instantly,
even before anyone touches you.
A happy woman — the happiest — with the best man.