Chapter Text
Shane woke to the warm, comforting aroma of something cooking downstairs—rich and familiar, the kind of smell that wrapped itself around the senses before the mind fully stirred. For a moment, he stayed still, half-asleep, listening to the quiet hum of the cottage.
Then he became aware of the heat beside him.
Ilya was still tucked close, their legs tangled beneath the blankets, his body radiating warmth—too much warmth. Shane’s brow furrowed as he turned toward him, memory rushing back all at once.
Yurina is here.
Ilya had already been fast asleep when she arrived the night before, about an hour after Shane had carried him upstairs. She’d come quietly, a small suitcase in one hand and grocery bags in the other. When Shane had asked what she brought, Yurina had only smiled, eyes gentle but determined.
“I want to cook Ilya’s favorite dishes,” she’d said softly.
Something in that simple sentence had settled deep in Shane’s chest. He’d shown her the spare guest room, grateful it was still clean, and after murmuring goodnights, he’d finally returned to bed—curling around Ilya with relief, pulling him close like a promise kept.
Now, comfort turned to alarm.
Shane pressed his palm to Ilya’s forehead.
Hot.
Too hot.
His heart stuttered as he reached for the thermometer on the bedside table and carefully slipped it beneath Ilya’s arm. The seconds stretched painfully as he waited, eyes fixed on the small digital screen.
39°C.
“Shit,” Shane breathed.
“Ilya? Baby?” He brushed his fingers along Ilya’s cheek, tapping gently. “Can you wake up for me?”
Ilya stirred, lashes fluttering as his eyes struggled open. They were unfocused, glazed with fever.
“Moy lyubov…” Ilya murmured weakly. “My head hurts. Everything feels heavy… too hot.”
“I know,” Shane said softly, forcing his voice to stay calm despite the tight knot in his chest. “I’m going to get you medicine and food, okay? Stay right here.”
Ilya managed a faint hum in response, already drifting.
Shane moved quickly, grabbing towels and heading downstairs. The scent of food grew stronger, richer, and his stomach growled despite the worry weighing on him. In the kitchen, Yurina stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring something familiar. Anya sat obediently nearby, tail thumping lightly against the floor.
“Good morning, Shane,” Yurina said warmly. “I hope it’s okay that I used your kitchen. I wanted to cook for you both… to thank you.”
“It’s more than okay,” Shane replied, offering a strained smile as he searched the cabinets. “Ilya has a fever. I just need medicine and some towels.”
Her expression changed instantly—concern sharpening her features. “Oh no… is he alright?”
“He will be,” Shane said, though he needed to believe it as much as say it. “I’ll be back down later.”
Back upstairs, Shane was just about to place a cool towel on Ilya’s forehead when his phone rang. He ignored it. It rang again. And again.
With a sigh, he answered.
“Hello?”
“Shane, it’s Nicole from Irina Corporation. We have a serious problem—we need you here immediately.”
“Can’t you handle it?” Shane said sharply. “I’m busy.”
“I’m really sorry,” Nicole insisted. “But we need you. Now.”
Shane’s gaze drifted to Ilya—flushed, pale beneath the fever, vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache. Leaving him felt wrong. Every instinct screamed against it.
But Yurina was here.
He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Ilya’s forehead. “Baby,” he whispered, brushing his hair back, “I need to go for a bit. I promise I’ll be back.”
Ilya only grunted softly, barely awake.
Shane quickly changed into fresh clothes, preparing to leave—but as he approached the door, Yurina was already there, hand raised, about to knock.
“Oh, I brought soup for Ilya,” she said, her voice soft but confident, carrying the smell of fresh herbs and simmered vegetables.
“Yurina… can you take care of him for a little while? It’s an emergency,” Shane asked, his voice tight with worry.
“Of course,” she replied, her gentle smile steadying him at once.
“Thank you so much… I’ll be back soon,” he said, already turning and heading downstairs.
“Take care, Shane. Drive safely,” she called after him.
Shane gave a grateful nod before hurrying out, and the cottage fell into a sudden hush—broken only by the soft, familiar sounds of Yurina moving quietly toward the bedroom.
Anya followed Yurina upstairs, jumping onto the bed and immediately curling against Ilya. Yurina gently pressed her hand to Ilya’s forehead.
“Ilyashunka? Can you wake up for me for a bit? You need to eat and take your medicine,” she coaxed.
Ilya blinked, his voice weak. “Mama… everything is so hot.”
“Yes, little bear, I know. But you need to eat something. I made shchi soup—your favorite. Please try a sip,” Yurina said, holding the bowl tenderly.
Even with the fever, a flicker of recognition and joy crossed Ilya’s face. “It still tastes like how you used to make it, mama… It’s delicious.”
“Thank you, Ilyashunka. Eat a little more so your stomach has enough,” she said, spooning another bite with care. Her hands lingered on his, brushing back his curls, and for a moment, she felt transported back to the quieter days in Russia—days of shared warmth, love, and care.
After finishing the soup, Yurina gave Ilya his medicine, tucked him back into bed, and started to leave—but he gripped her wrist.
“Don’t go, Mama… stay here with me,” he whispered.
“Ilyashunka… I will never leave you. I’ll stay right here,” she promised, running her fingers through his curls. Even fevered, Ilya smiled and slowly drifted back to sleep, comforted by her presence. Yurina brushed his cheek softly, memorizing the way he breathed, the weight of his small body against hers.
“Can you sing that one song, Mama?” he murmured.
“Of course, my little bear,” she whispered, her voice low and soothing. She sang the lullaby she had always sung to him, the words flowing gently into the room, wrapping around him like a protective embrace.
Sleep now little man, my lovely,
Lullaby good night.
On your crib the moon above thee
Gently sheds her light.
Shall I start to tell a story,
Melody recite?
Slumber now, a fable for thee,
Lullaby good night.
On its stones the Terek falling,
Muddy palisade;
Here the cruel Chechen, crawling,
sharpens deadly blade;
Battle hardened is your father,
Wary of no fight:
Sleep, then, baby, be not bothered,
Lullaby good night.
You will, in dawns yet breaking,
What a fearful race you'll run.
Boldly to the stirrup taking,
You'll pick up the gun.
Yours, when you go into battle,
Woven all of silk threads bright,
Sleep my child, I'll sew a saddle,
Lullaby good night.
Hours passed. Ilya’s breathing steadied. Yurina went downstairs, washed the dishes. Her eyes wandered around the cottage, catching snapshots of the life they had built—photos of Ilya, Shane, and Anya, each one radiating happiness and love.
By dinner, she prepared another of Ilya’s favorite dishes. As she cooked, Ilya joined her in the kitchen, checking his temperature before sitting down.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked.
“Da. And I’m hungry now because of your cooking,” he said with a grin. Yurina laughed, heart swelling at his resilience.
After dinner, Ilya went upstairs to shower. Yurina settled on the couch, and Anya curled at her side. When Ilya returned, he quietly laid his head in her lap. Her hand instinctively ran through his curls, and he sighed, relaxed and safe.
“You finally got the dog you wanted,” Yurina said, smiling down at him.
“Yeah… I named her Anya, like you always wanted,” he replied.
“Yes, I know,” she said softly.
“Do you know… I always dreamed about you.” Ilya whispered.
“Really?” Yurina asked, brushing his hair from his face.
“Yes… I wanted you to meet Shane, but every time I tried, you’d vanish. It hurt,” he admitted.
“Oh, my little bear,” she murmured, gathering his face in her hands. “I’m here now. I love Shane because he makes you happy—and that makes me happy.”
Tears streamed down Ilya’s cheeks. “I love you so much, Mama. Please… don’t leave me again.”
“I love you too, Ilyashunka. I promise I won’t,” she said, pressing kisses to his forehead and the moles she loved so dearly. And just like that, the cottage was filled with quiet, perfect peace.
Shane returned later, his heart swelling at the sight: Yurina asleep on the couch, Anya nestled at her side, and Ilya cradled in her lap. He quietly took a photo, capturing this perfect moment—a family finally whole, a home filled with love.
A Few Months Later
“Ilyushka,” Yurina called from the living room, her voice warm but slightly frantic, “where’s the tape I gave you? I swear it was just here a second ago.”
Paper crinkled softly around her feet—neatly wrapped boxes in reds and golds scattered across the coffee table. The scent of pine from the small Christmas tree filled the cottage, its lights blinking lazily in the early afternoon glow.
“It’s under the sofa, mama!” Ilya shouted back from the bedroom he shared with Shane. “And don’t finish everything without me—I want to help too!”
Yurina laughed, shaking her head as she crouched to retrieve the tape. Mama. The word still felt unreal sometimes—fragile, precious—as if it might disappear if she held onto it too tightly.
She had been coming to the cottage more often now. Not out of obligation, but out of longing—to make up for the years they had lost, to fill the quiet moments with laughter, cooking, and simple presence. Every second felt borrowed, and so she cherished each one fiercely.
Ilya soon joined her, sitting cross-legged beside the gifts, carefully smoothing wrapping paper with the same concentration he’d had as a child. Yurina watched him quietly, memorizing the way his brow furrowed, the way he hummed absentmindedly while working. These small moments—these were everything.
When the last ribbon was tied, they finally stepped back, satisfied.
Soon after, Shane left ahead of them to help his parents prepare dinner. Yurina watched him go with a soft smile. Christmas with Shane’s family—their family—still felt like something out of a dream.
Ilya, however, had gone all out.
When Yurina emerged from her room, she stopped short.
Matching sweaters.
Not subtle ones either—soft wool in winter colors, stitched with tiny reindeer and snowflakes. Even Anya had one.
“Oh my,” Yurina laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” Ilya said simply, grinning. “It’s our first Christmas together.”
Our.
The word followed her all the way to Shane’s parents’ house.
The house glowed warmly when they arrived, light spilling out through the windows, laughter already audible inside. Shane opened the door almost immediately—and before she could even speak, he pulled her into a gentle hug.
“Merry Christmas, mama,” he whispered.
Yurina froze for half a heartbeat—then melted.
“Merry Christmas too, Sheynchik,” she replied softly.
She felt it immediately—the faint blush blooming across Shane’s freckled cheeks. He was still getting used to it, still shy, but she thought it was the sweetest thing in the world.
Inside, Yuna and David greeted her warmly, their smiles genuine and unguarded. The house buzzed with life—clinking glasses, soft music, the smell of food that promised comfort and fullness.
Later, when the moment felt right, Yurina lifted her camera.
“Okay,” she said gently, already backing away. “Let me take some photos first.”
Shane sat with his parents on the couch, Anya perched nearby, tail wagging. Yurina snapped photo after photo—laughter caught mid-motion, hands overlapping, shoulders leaning together. Then Ilya joined them, and she captured those too.
Each click of the camera felt like proof. This is real. This is happening.
Then Ilya looked at her and smiled.
“Mama,” he said softly, “you should be in one too. Come here.”
She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. For just a second, old doubts rose in her chest—but then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said, voice trembling slightly. “Let me just set the timer.”
She placed the camera carefully, adjusted the angle, and hurried back. The couch was crowded when she sat down beside Ilya, knees brushing, shoulders pressed together—but it felt perfect.
As the timer blinked, Ilya reached for her hand and held it tight.
She didn’t let go.
The shutter clicked.
And in that moment—wrapped in warmth, surrounded by love, held firmly in her son’s grasp—Yurina felt it settle deep in her bones.
She belonged.
Shane immediately checked the photos, laughing as he showed them to his parents. Yurina stayed still, imprinting the scene into her memory so she would never forget it—not even in her loneliest moments.
She didn’t notice Ilya watching her until he leaned forward and hugged her tightly.
“Ya tebya lyublyu, mama,” he whispered, burying his face into her neck, breathing her in.
“Ya tebya lyublyu, my little bear,” she replied, holding him just as tightly.
And for the first time in her life, Yurina knew—
not hoped, not wished, but knew—
that this wasn’t something she would lose again.
This was home.