Summary:

“No, malyshka. Not sad.” Ilya turns and kisses her palm. “I am happy.” 

Ilya stills after the words leave his mouth, skin prickling with warmth. He means it, he realizes. 

He’s spent so much of the last decade convincing himself that he was not sad. But being happy, being happy like this—effortlessly, accidentally, on purpose—is different. Ilya can’t remember the last time he’d thought it and meant it. I am happy.  

“Ilya?” Shane asks softly. 

“I’m okay. I—” Ilya sniffs, wipes at his cheeks. It’s all useless when he looks down at Emi again, when he sees himself staring back. His lip trembles. “My mama would have loved her.”