Work Text:
¿Cómo estarán en la ensenada, el viejo ceibal, los jazmineros y orquídeas en flor?
Every third Sunday in June held a different meaning for him. Father’s Day. In Russia, Father’s Day had only become a celebration in 2021, but by then his heart already belonged to Canada—and especially to a certain Canadian. Father’s Day had been a meaningless date to him for as long as he could remember, since his father had never been worthy of celebrating it.
It was different now.
Now he realized that Grigori had carried the title of father merely as a decoration.
He liked to think that perhaps, long before he was born, when it was just Andrei, Irina, and him, the word still held some meaning. When things in the family hadn’t yet fallen apart, maybe Grigori Rozanov really was a father. Ilya was never lucky enough to meet him.
He clung tightly to that idea because only once had Ilya experienced Grigori as a father. And he wasn’t sure if it had really been him, or just the disease that had advanced so far it had penetrated his system, dissolving among the threads of his mind and erasing every trace of that stoic, rough man who always had only harsh words for Ilya. Never compliments, only complaints.
Ilya might have thought that the first and only time he heard his father pay him a compliment was just his imagination, but the harsh and crude remark that came after he came to his senses made him realize that it had actually happened and that he didn’t know how to feel about it.
“Son,” Grigori had said to him. In a soft tone he wasn’t used to. “Don’t leave me.”
That had thrown him off balance.
His eyes had met his father’s, so much like his own yet at the same time so different. But in that moment, it seemed as if he was looking at a different Grigori.
“Ilya?” He had said it so softly and with such a longing tone that Ilya couldn’t help but freeze.
“Tell me, Father.”
“Ilyusha,” Ilya wanted to throw up when he heard him say that. How dare he use that nickname that only his mother ever used. “Come here. Sit with me.”
He approached cautiously, afraid that at any moment his father would flip a switch and go back to being the same vile man he always was.
Grigori had taken him in his arms and smiled at him. How strange it was to see him smile. He had looked at him in surprise, as if he didn’t recognize him. ‘That makes two of us, Dad,” Ilya had thought. He had traced his face with his calloused hands, pausing at that tiny, almost imperceptible scar left behind after his father had slammed his head hard against the table. He had broken a plate by accident, tripping over his own feet as he tried to hand the plate to his mom, and the punishment had been instant.
“You’ve grown so much,” he said in a broken voice. He gently stroked his hair, untangling a few stubborn curls. “You’ve become a real man.”
Ilya just nodded. Grigori’s words had left him without words and with a lump in his throat that threatened to turn into a cry for help if he tried to say anything.
“I’m sorry, Ilyusha.” His father’s hands trembled as he took Ilya’s. “I think I was too hard on you sometimes.”
“Dad…” He didn’t know what else to say at that moment. He had always hoped to hear those words, thinking they would never come, and now that he was hearing them, he tried to convince himself that they were sincere. That Grigori was truly speaking from the heart.
“You were always so much like your mother,” he smiled, staring into space. His eyes seemed to be looking at a very old memory, a world where his mother was still alive. “That makes you special, son. I’m glad you’re like her and not like me. I’m not a good man.”
“Dad, don’t say—”
He had shut his mouth abruptly when he saw his father straighten up. He saw him go rigid suddenly, and when he turned to look at him, those blue eyes they shared were once again the same ones he had always known. Hard and full of judgment.
“What are you doing here?” he said in a very harsh tone. He was back to his old self; he had vanished just like a shooting star. “Don’t you have practice today? Get out of here.”
Quiero volver a contemplarme en tus ojos cambá, y que me beses como te besé, bajo la sombra del jacarandá.
The memory haunted him every Father’s Day without fail—a constant reminder that Grigori had let his guard down for just a moment and that, for a few minutes, he had been the father Ilya had always wanted. He wanted to cherish that memory of his, to let it be the one that prevailed over all the other painful moments, but years had passed—many of them—and that moment remained just that: a moment, and nothing more.
Niño, apoyate en mis recuerdos, intentá dormir en paz.
Everything was different now.
He was a father now.
For the past six years, Father’s Day had stopped hurting just a little bit less. Although it had also stopped hurting a little when he met David Hollander. A man who, little by little, had stopped being just Shane’s father and had become his as well.
But six years ago, when Mila was born, the pain had subsided almost completely.
The fear of being a bad father had tormented him his whole life. He hadn’t grown up with a good role model; he feared that no matter how much he’d said for years that he’d never be a father like Grigori, in the end he might not be able to escape the legacy destined for him.
His sweet, beautiful Mila. She was a shining light, so different from Shane, and she gave him a peace he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for all this time. She was the reason his fear of being a bad father vanished completely. Or almost completely. Having children means living with a constant fear of messing up, but learning to keep it under control for their sake. Knowing that you’re going to make a thousand mistakes, but that every single one of them can be fixed.
Grigori’s shadow had left him several years ago. Little by little, he was forgetting the hurtful words, the hits, the judgments, and holding on to that one good memory of him. Most of the time, Grigori was just that in Ilya’s life—a shadow, someone no one spoke of, who had been there and had caused pain, but someone not worth mentioning.
His daughter already had a grandfather, and she didn’t need another one.
Shane, as sweet and stubborn as ever, worried about his husband and his emotional well-being, insisted that if he had already healed from that painful part of his past, it wasn’t good to lock it away in a safe. That his daughter would eventually understand—when she was much older—who Grigori had been and the role he had played in his life. Ilya had insisted that they would deal with that moment when it came.
He knew it would come someday. He hadn’t imagined that time would pass so quickly and that it would arrive on a day that was so important to him.
Ilya was outside, sitting on a small swing that he barely fit into. They had set it up in a clearing surrounded by trees when Mila turned three.
Mila came running with overwhelming energy, shouting ‘Papa’ with enthusiasm. Her curls were flying, and they were the only thing she had inherited from him. If Ilya let his mind wander for a moment, he could have sworn he was seeing her mother. He hoped that when she grew up, she would be just as beautiful as her mother, both inside and out.
She was holding a piece of paper in her hands, and Ilya suspected it was one of those school projects she was forced to do. The kind where parents had to send extra money for silly gifts. Ilya loved those silly gifts and had them all pinned to the fridge—and the ones that didn’t fit were stored in a filed folder, which Ilya looked at more often than he cared to admit.
Shane watched her run from the cabin door. He exchanged glances with Ilya and gave him a wink. He moved his lips, and Ilya could make out that he was saying, ‘Take care of her.’
“Look, look!” She threw herself into his arms without a shred of fear. She knew he would always catch her, no matter what. “For you!”
She squeezed him tightly in her little arms, trying to hold as much of Ilya as her arms would allow. In the end, as always, she chose to hang onto his neck like a koala while showering him with kisses. Mila especially liked to kiss him on the forehead—a gesture she’d seen Shane do often, and one she’d adopted from a very young age. She said that every time Shane kissed him on the forehead, his face would light up with a different kind of happiness. So she had decided to copy him, because she wanted him to have that expression for her, too.
Little and innocent, Mila. She was too young to understand that Ilya loved her just for breathing.
“Milochka, is that the tightest you can hug me?” He hugged her back just as tightly while kissing her on the forehead too.
He took the drawing between his fingers as he examined it with curiosity and close attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mila adopt an expression very similar to the one he used to see on his husband’s face. Expectant, with those anxious, half-closed brown eyes waiting for a positive response.
Like when Shane would let him try one of his low-sugar recipes that didn’t have much flavor, but that Ilya loved. He loved them simply because he made them for him. And well—for Mila, too. Although Mila was more particular about her food.
As if there were ever a time when he would say anything bad to those chocolate eyes that were his ruin.
“Do you…?” She ran her hands nervously over her thighs. She coughed as she avoided his gaze. “Do you like it?”
It was incredible how much she looked like Shane.
“Hey, solnyshko. Eyes here.”
Her eyes automatically sought his. He wanted to break her of that habit she’d inherited from Shane—the way she’d completely avoid eye contact whenever things got a little overwhelming.
So, so much like his husband.
“I love it. Thank you. It’s perfect.”
Mila’s gaze lit up completely. Those brown eyes shed all anxiety, and the freckles she’d inherited from Shane stood out on her face, flushed with happiness.
“Happy Father’s Day, Papa!”
Her little hands squeezed both his cheeks, making his mouth pucker like a duck’s. Mila looked at him very seriously and spoke her next words carefully.
“Ya lyublyu tebya, papa.” I love you, papa.
His heart could burst at any moment.
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, solnyshko.” I love you too, sunshine.
Mila spoke Russian very well for someone who was only six years old. She had been taught it since she was a child—Shane insisted it was part of her heritage, and that Ilya deserved to speak fluently with someone who understood him and vice versa. Even though Shane had been practicing and studying Russian for years—and could understand her husband—Mila was a natural speaker. And the difference was noticeable.
So they used to keep Russian between the two of them, their little secret language—not so secret.
“It’s very pretty. Did it take you a long time to make?” he asked her in Russian.
“Oh, no, no…” she waved his hands dismissively. “It was really easy, a piece of cake.”
“Oh, really?” Ilya playfully poked her nose. “My little artist.”
Mila burst out laughing. “Ms. Lynch told us to make one for every dad we knew.”
He sat her on his lap, hoping the weight wouldn’t break the rickety swing seat.
“I didn’t know you knew so many dads.”
“Silly papa.” She playfully hit him. “I know lots of dads.” She switched back to English.
“Sure, but the only ones who matter are daddy and me.” He planted a big kiss on her cheek. The kind she complained about, but he knew she loved. “No one else.”
“But Grandpa David is a dad, too.”
“Oh, maybe we can make an exception—”
“And Uncle Hayden is a dad, too.”
“Hayden is not that im—”
Suddenly she went still. And looked at him curiously. Ilya didn’t know it, but here came the question he had feared for so long.
“Papa. Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything you want, sweetheart.” Ilya straightened her up on his lap while playing with strands of her hair.
“Do you have a dad?
Ilya’s hand froze and he felt a chill run through his body.
“W—What…” The question had caught Ilya off guard. “What are you…?”
“A dad,” she said innocently—as if, by saying it in such a naive tone, she wasn’t tearing Ilya apart inside.
Oh, but Ilya did have a dad.
“Grandpa David is daddy’s dad,” she continued. Ilya felt his heart start to race.
“And I know you have a mom.” She made a little ‘duh’ sound. “You have pictures of her. She was beautiful.”
“Yeah—”
“But what about your dad?” She tilted her little head, curious. “Where is he?”
How could he explain it to her? He wished he could just tell her he was dead and be done with it. But Mila didn’t carry the Hollander name as a mere decoration. She was curious and asked, asked, and asked. And she was at that age where everything had to have a reason. He couldn’t tell her he was dead, because she’d assume Grigori was in heaven with Irina.
Ilya didn’t feel capable of explaining to her that Grigori was much farther from heaven. Or much lower down, actually.
How do you explain to your six-year-old daughter that you had a shitty father, when she’d never even considered the idea that a father could be a bad person?
“He—” Her voice cracked, and Mila noticed it right away.
“Papa? Are you okay?”
“Y—Yeah… I…” He didn’t know what the hell to say. “Why do you ask?”
“Did I make you angry?”
“No, never.” He gently took her by the shoulders. “Never say that again.”
“I’m sorry.”
He took her by the shoulders again, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize to me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She lowered her eyes and avoided making eye contact with him, bracing herself to speak—a gesture so similar to Shane’s that it made Ilya want to pull out her hair strand by strand and cry over how alike they were.
“What happened to your dad?”
Oh, sweetheart—he wanted to tell her—what hadn’t happened to his dad.
“He’s not…” Shit. Couldn’t Ilya just tell her he was dead? “He’s no longer with us.”
“So, does he live somewhere else?” she asked curiously. “Is he in Russia?”
“No… he doesn’t…” Well, there it went. “He’s not alive, my love.”
Her little eyes filled with tears. “Oh, papa…”
Niño, apoyate en mis recuerdos, intentá dormir en paz
Ilya’s hands quickly moved to her cheeks, gently wiping away her tears. He wasn’t going to let Mila shed tears for Grigori. That man didn’t deserve anything from Mila—let alone her tears.
“Don’t cry over that man, Milochka.”
“But papa—” Mila gave him a disapproving look “Your dad is dead! That’s very sad!”
“He isn’t—”
“He isn’t what?”
“Is complicated.”
“Why is it complicated?” Oh, everything had to have a reason. Of course it did. “Aren’t you sad that your dad is dead?”
“Of course not.”
He felt Mila jump into his arms and realized too late that his response had come too quickly and in a very harsh tone. Not only could he tell that his tone of voice had upset Mila, but she hadn’t found his answer very funny either.
And he understood her. In his daughter’s mind, there was no room for the idea that anyone could be happy not to have her father; it bothered and frustrated her. And Ilya, even though he was her father, was no exception to being the target of those feelings.
“Papa, why…”
“He wasn’t a good man, Mila,” he said harshly.
“Oh?”
“He was bad.” His voice cracked a little. “Bad to my mom, bad… bad to me.”
“Bad?” Mila said it in a disbelieving tone, as if what he was telling her were the strangest thing in the world. “Did he yell at you a lot?”
He didn't just scream.
He simply nodded because he was afraid that if he said a word, his voice would break. Or maybe it was the fear of opening his mouth and saying things a six-year-old shouldn't know.
Suddenly, Mila’s face grew very serious. “Did he hit you?”
The question completely threw him off balance, and he felt his heart suddenly race. He didn’t know how his daughter—sweet and innocent—had come to such a conclusion.
“W—What…?”
“Did he hit you, papa?” When he didn’t answer, she bombarded him with more questions. “Did he yell at you?” Her eyes frantically searched for his. “Did my grandpa hurt you?”
Her grandpa.
“Did he hurt Grandma Irina?”
Siento el peso en tu conciencia por el llanto de mamá
He wasn’t sure if she was still asking questions because a buzzing sound echoed inside his head.
He tried to part his lips and say something to Mila. His brain kept telling him, ‘Say something, say something, answer your daughter, explain to her that not everything is what it seems.’ But nothing came out.
“Papa.” He felt tiny fingers touching his cheeks.
Mila’s voice penetrated him and managed to pull him out a little from the panic that had engulfed him.
“Papa, I’m sorry, I—”
He wanted to smile when he saw Mila doing what he’d seen Shane do with him many times, but his body simply wouldn’t respond. It wasn’t the first time Ilya had had a panic attack, nor would it be the last. Luck had been on his side every single time, because Shane had always been able to calm him down.
Five things you can see—Mila’s hands, Mila’s eyes…
“Papa, I’m here. It’s okay.” She tried to take his hands and focus his gaze on hers. “Look at me…”
…what else? What else?
“It’s—it’s… o–okay…” His voice suddenly choked up, and he gasped for air.
“You’re… you’re scaring me.” Panic flooded his voice, and he felt her pull away suddenly.
“N–No…”
Vi que el miedo al abandono no te deja respirar
He was scaring her.
“Papa, can you… can you hear me?” He felt her little hands running not only over his face but all over his body, trying to keep him in place. She was trying to anchor him, just as Shane used to do when one of his episodes happened.
Ilya’s hands shot up to his chest, searching for some kind of relief he couldn’t find. When he saw her walking away, he tried to get up and reach her. To tell her that everything was fine and not to worry, that everything was going to be okay.
His legs wouldn’t respond, and he felt his body giving out.
“I’m going to call daddy!” And she ran.
That was the last thing he could hear before he felt himself completely collapse.
He felt himself drowning.
Grigori was buried many meters underground, in another country on the other side of the world, and he was still messing up his life.
He felt the dirt on her knees and hands. The lack of air had caused him to fall onto it, and now he could feel it all over his hair.
He had scared Mila.
She had simply asked a question from her innocent little mind. With no ill intent behind it, just curiosity. And he hadn’t been able to answer such a simple question. He had gone speechless… and had scared her.
How was he ever going to be able to look her in the face after that?
He was a bad father.
Just as bad a father as his own had been.
He was just like Grigori.
His own mind began to betray him with thoughts that just kept repeating: you're a bad father, bad father, you scared her, you're a bad father, bad father, bad.
¿Quién mató tu sonrisita de ilusión y de bondad?
He couldn’t get any air at all, and he felt his heart pounding desperately for oxygen. He turned his head and looked up at the sky, hoping to take in even a little breath so he wouldn’t die right there.
He had already traumatized Mila enough; he didn’t need to traumatize her any further.
He felt a sense of peace for a few moments.
The beeping stopped and the voices seemed to fall silent. At some point he had ended up on his back, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate and his eyes fixed on a blinding sky.
The idea of staying there didn’t seem so terrifying anymore. Surrounded by earth, just as his father was surrounded somewhere. Maybe in the end they weren’t as different as he thought.
But Shane, his husband, his partner, his everything, had signed a silent agreement many years ago that clearly stated Ilya wasn’t allowed to leave before him.
“Ilya!”
The scream echoed loudly all around him. He couldn’t see his husband’s face, but the tone of his voice gave him away. He had scared not only his daughter, but his husband as well.
The footsteps grew closer and closer. “Mila, no—stay right there!”
“But, Daddy!”
“Please stay right there!”
A pair of deeply concerned brown eyes blocked his vision, and a ritual familiar to both of them began.
Shane’s strong arms wrapped around him, not caring that the dirt and dry leaves were staining his clothes. Ilya watched his lips move, and though he was still very dazed, he knew Shane was telling him to breathe with him.
They spent many minutes together, clinging to each other, with Shane telling him over and over that he was okay, to breathe, to look him in the eyes, to lean on him. Ilya struggled with the simple task of getting air into his lungs, while Mila stood in the background apologizing and promising not to ask about him again.
Sé que te querés dormir pa' no volver a despertar
“Hey…”
Shane’s hands continued to stroke his hair. Ilya had his eyes tightly shut, and his head was buried in his husband’s neck. His breathing no longer sounded erratic, and he knew the panic attack had passed because his knees began to protest the position they were both in.
“Hey.” Shane tried again. His husband’s hands tried to pull his head out of its hiding place. “Are you with me?”
Ilya could be a very clingy person when he wanted to be. He would deny it to anyone who suggested he was clingy. But there, in the arms of the man he loved the most, he could allow himself to be vulnerable and be as clingy as he wanted. He didn’t feel ready to face the world yet and wanted to stay in his safe place a little longer.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Ilya let out a low growl but nodded.
“Mila?” Ilya asked in a hoarse voice. “I think I scared her.”
“Hey, no.” Shane pushed him away from his shoulder, ignoring his husband’s protesting groan. “She’s just worried. She didn’t understand what happened.”
“Yebat…” Fuck.
“What happened?” Shane asked so softly that Ilya almost didn’t hear him.
“She asked about Grigori.” Shane’s eyes widened in surprise.
Surprisingly, Mila hadn’t asked much about her other grandfather. She had one who played the role of grandfather so well that she didn’t need another. But she knew Irina; she knew she was her papa’s mom, that she was no longer on this earth, and that she was always watching over her from heaven. Mila loved to say she had an angel watching over her.
“I couldn’t—I couldn’t explain it to her.”
His heart began to pound again. Shane felt it instantly because he had wrapped his arms around Ilya, like a protective blanket.
“It’s fine, did you hear me? It’s fine, we’re good.” He squeezed him, pulling him closer to his chest as if wanting to merge with him. He encouraged him to continue. “What did you tell her?
“That I was glad he was dead.”
If Ilya had been in the mood, he would have laughed at the look of surprise on Shane’s face. Shane knew how his husband felt about Grigori and everything he’d done to Ilya and his family. He himself couldn’t deny that he was glad Grigori was gone and had stopped tormenting his husband. Apparently, even in death, he couldn’t leave them alone.
Shane looked at him curiously. “What did she say?”
“Oh, she got mad.” Ilya let out a hollow laugh. “She didn’t understand why—I tried to… I tried to explain it to her but… damn—”
Ilya felt his pulse quicken again as he tried to explain to his husband what had gone wrong. Thinking about his father caused that reaction in him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Shane pulled him close again and soothed him as he had done so many times with Mila. “We’ll explain it to her together. We’re a team, I’m here. We’ll be okay, alright?
Amor, no llores, veo luz en tus males
Ilya held him tight, trying to melt completely into Shane and forget for a moment everything that was happening. To other people it might seem silly, but trying to explain to your little girl why your father—her grandfather—was a piece of shit wasn’t an easy topic for him.
But he had Shane, and with Shane by his side, he felt like he could go to the moon and back.
“Look at me.” Shane pulled him out of his shell, forcing him to look into those brown eyes that were his undoing. “Mila isn’t angry. She isn’t scared. Do you understand?” He ran his fingers through his tousled curls, continuing his soothing ritual. “She’s just very curious.”
“She got that from you.”
“And you love that about me.” Shane winked at him.
The comment made Ilya laugh. His heart was beating in a more rhythmic way. He felt lighter, the heaviness in his chest lifted. After all, that was the effect Shane had on him.
“Yeah, and I love that she got that from you.” He let out a sigh, resting his forehead on Shane’s shoulder. “She… she just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that question today.”
“Welcome to parenthood. Kids ask strange things every day.” Shane smiled at him. “In a couple of years, she’ll ask you how to put on a condom properly.”
“She will?” Ilya looked at him mischievously. “Did you ask your parents how to put on a condom, Hollander?”
Ilya knew the answer before Shane said it, because he was Shane Hollander.
“Didn’t you, Rozanov?”
“Of course you did.”
They both laughed, and for a moment, everything seemed normal. Ignoring the fact that they were sitting on the ground, that Shane’s hands were holding Ilya tightly, driven by a silent fear that if he loosened his grip even slightly, Ilya would slip away. Ilya looked him in the eyes, silently asking for a couple of minutes like this, just the two of them. Shane nodded almost imperceptibly and settled him back against him while continuing to run his hand over him.
They didn’t stay like that for long, since Ilya knew there was someone worried in their living room, waiting for his parents. And deep down, waiting for an answer.
Ilya was the first to stand up. He held out a hand to his husband, “Let’s go. Time to face the beast.”
He said it in a tone of irony that fooled no one, least of all his husband. Shane knew the meaning behind those words, because he knew his husband inside and out, inside and out. It frightened Ilya how well Shane knew his mind and the dark places it often took him.
“Don’t go there.” Ilya tilted his head, pretending not to understand his words. “She’ll understand you. You know why?”
Because she’s only six years old and wants to see her papa doing well, he wanted to reply. Because she’s so young that she’ll pretend to understand, when in reality she won’t.
“Stop underestimating her.” Shane seemed to read his mind. “She’ll understand you because she loves you.”
Oh.
“And she knows that bad people exist.” Shane stroked his face. “She just won’t be able to believe how a cruel person like your father could have been close to you and raised someone as good as you. Because good people…”
“…surround themselves with good people.” Ilya finished.
Because good people surround themselves with good people. Such a short and slightly silly phrase, because as you grow up, you meet all kinds of people. But it was something they told Mila constantly.
Growing up with two dads, while no longer as socially unacceptable as it once was, was still an unwanted topic of conversation for many. There were still plenty of people against them, against their relationship, against them having children. People who called them abominations.
“Bad people,” Mila used to say, and she knew she had to stay away from that kind of crowd because good people surround themselves with good people.
Her daughter would understand.
“Did I tell you I love you yet?”
Shane took both his hands and squeezed them tightly.
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, what a terrible husband I am—please don’t file for divorce.” Ilya’s hands moved to Shane’s face and gently caressed his constellation of freckles. “Ya tebya lyublyu, sweetheart. So much.”
Shane leaned in and passionately pressed his lips to his husband’s. It was a short kiss, but one with great meaning behind it. It was a kiss that said, ‘we’re going to explain something big to our daughter, but everything will be okay, because she’s our daughter and she’ll understand’.
“I love you.” He gave him a wink. “Trust me, it’ll be okay.”
“I know.” Ilya stole another quick kiss. “It’ll be okay because we’ll do it together.”
Mila was waiting for them, sitting on a sofa so big that it made her look smaller than she really was. She was clutching the stuffed octopus she adored—and used for emotional support—while constantly blowing her nose. A sign that she had been crying. Ilya’s heart ached when he heard that sound. Six years old, and one of the things he hated most was seeing his little girl cry.
“Solnyshko.”
Mila jumped up when she saw Ilya and ran to hug him tightly.
“I’m so sorry, papa.” Tears welled up that she had apparently been holding back with all her might. “I didn’t mean to make you—I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I swear! Forgive me, papa. I won’t—I won’t mention that man again. I’m sorry, I—”
“Breathe, sweetheart.” Shane stroked her back, trying to calm her down.
“Milochka, you’re going to run out of words,” Ilya said in a playful tone.
The joke seemed to throw her off and leave her speechless. Mila stood there for a few seconds with her mouth open, looking at Ilya doubtfully. Her little brain was trying to process why her papa was joking and trying to make her smile when just a few minutes ago it seemed like he couldn’t breathe.
Mila placed both hands on Ilya’s head, moving them around to see if there was any sign of a bump or anything out of place.
“Papa, are you okay?”
Shane let out a chuckle in the background.
“He’s fine now, sweetheart.”
“But before—you were…”
“I want to talk to you about that.” Ilya tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I want to explain why—”
“No!”
Ilya and Shane looked at each other, confused.
“Don’t you want us to talk about that?” Ilya said.
“Papa, I don’t want—I don’t want you to stop breathing,” Mila said, frightened. Shane let out a sigh. “Again.
Ilya was once again left speechless by something Mila had said. He didn’t know how to respond. He felt despair seep back into him and his heart slowly begin to race. Shane’s hand quickly rested on his chest, and it was like a switch that turned off all despair. Ilya looked at his husband, and his eyes told him, ‘stay calm, I’ve got you.’
“Mila, eyes here,” Shane said in a firm voice, and Mila obeyed. “Do you remember when we talked about panic attacks?”
“Yes, it’s when we’re really scared or—or stressed. And we feel it all at once.”
“Exactly, very good, my love.” Shane’s eyes returned to Ilya. “That’s what happened to your papa. You had nothing to do with it.”
“It wasn’t my fault?”
Oh, Ilya’s heart could break at any moment.
“My love, no. Never.” Ilya couldn’t help but take her in his arms and sit her on his lap. Beyond the panic of the moment, all he wanted was to comfort her.
“That’s why we want to explain to you what happened,” Shane explained.
Mila still looked uncertain, still afraid that bringing up the subject again would upset Ilya all over again. And Ilya wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t happen. But then again, Shane was there this time, and with him by his side, anything was possible.
“Okay,” Mila said.
The explanation took them an hour, which felt like five to Ilya. Ilya left the control completely in Shane’s hands, because although he hadn’t witnessed Grigori’s abuse firsthand, Ilya had told him in great detail everything his father had done to both him and his mother.
Shane gave her an explanation suitable for a six-year-old. He told Mila that Grigori hadn’t been a father like them, or like Grandpa David or Uncle Hayden. He told her that Grigori was very strict, even when there was no need to be. That his words weren’t always kind and that they constantly hurt Ilya and his family. As Shane explained further, the worry on Mila’s face grew deeper, and her eyes filled with tears she struggled not to let fall.
Mila turned to look at him. “But papa, you—”
“Everything’s fine now, my love.”
“How?”
How?
Ilya would often wake up and ask himself how.
How, after so many years of losing the person he loved most and being left alone in the world, he’d been blessed to find Shane. How, even after their complicated relationship, Shane had decided to love him and give him his heart on a silver platter. How Shane had been able to give him a family and friends who were now his family. How Shane had proposed to him. How Shane had given him a daughter who was his greatest joy.
And while the question had an answer—a very long one, indeed—he didn’t know how to find the right words in English to make Mila understand.
But that was why Shane was by his side—to come to his rescue at every turn.
“Because he has us,” Shane said, taking both their hands. “But…”
“But?” Mila said curiously. How could having them not be enough?
“But even when you’re surrounded by people who love and support you, sometimes it’s not enough.”
“I don’t understand, daddy…”
“You know Galina, right?” Ilya said.
“The lady who talks to you in her big building… or on the computer, sometimes.”
“Her.” Ilya weighed his words and did his best to give her a coherent explanation. “When you’re someone with, like, a not-so-nice past, sometimes—sometimes your mind betrays you.”
“Like when you’re having a bad day?”
Ilya and Shane chuckled. “Exactly. Sometimes my brain makes me think bad things. And even though I have your dad by my side, you, and the whole family… sometimes it’s not enough.” Ilya playfully tapped her on the nose. “So I have to talk to a professional. Someone to help me get my mind in order.”
Mila seemed satisfied with the explanation because she just threw herself at him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Shane looked at them, heartwarming, and simply leaned against his husband’s shoulder while stroking Mila’s back.
“I’m sorry, papa.”
“Hey, no, stop—”
“I’m sorry for mentioning your… him.” Mila put on a serious face. “I’m never going to talk about him again.”
Shane turned to look at her with concern.
“Not at all, sweetheart.” And even though it was hard for him to say those words, he had to say them anyway. “He is your grandfather, after all.”
Mila didn’t like that comment at all; she let out a whimper and made that face she always made when Shane forced her to drink that healthy beet and raspberry smoothie—which she only drank because it was pink, but she wasn’t a fan of it at all.
“I don’t want another grandpa. I have Grandma Irina; she takes care of me, and—and that’s enough.”
A weight Ilya didn’t know he’d been carrying on his chest lifted, and he felt himself breathe a little easier.
Ilya’s heart and mind couldn’t comprehend how a little girl like Mila could be his. But when he looked up and met Shane’s red-rimmed eyes, he thanked the universe, Irina, and whatever god might be listening for allowing a man like Shane to be by his side.
Amor, no llores, veo luz en tus males
Siguiéndote el corazón