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“Mama! Mama!” Russia called, running up to Weimar. She whipped around, briefly panicked. Weimar calmed when she saw him smiling.
“Yes, my treasure?” She asked, crouching down to be closer to his eye level. Her ten year old son looked an awful lot like his father, but he hadn’t inherited his height. Or, perhaps he hadn't grown enough yet.
He held out a framed photograph. “Mama, is this you?” He asked, eyes wide.
Weimar froze, her breath hitching. It was a photo of her and her family. Her parents, her siblings. Not this family. Not the family she had made with Soviet. The family that had been shattered. She stood next to her father, beaming brighter than the sun. Her brother was in her father’s arms, trying to keep a straight face, but he was clearly upset that he was being held. Austria-Hungary stood on her father’s left. He smiled too. It was almost like he was restraining himself. In front of him were Weimar’s older siblings, Austria and Hungary.
“One of them,” Weimar replied. “Who are you talking about?”
“This one! You two have the same smile.” Russia pointed to the correct girl.
Weimar smiled, gently taking the photograph from Russia’s hands. “Yes, that is me. This… where did you find this?”
Russia started to fiddle with the string of one of his ushanka flaps. “Uhm. I went to your room because I was looking for you, and I saw it on the bed table. I got curious because you never hide photos from us. You like showing us photos.”
Weimar took a breath to collect herself. She clutched the frame tighter, not caring if she cracked the glass. She didn’t feel strong enough to do that, anyway. “Russia, dear, I didn’t show you all this one because it’s not your family. It was mine and it is gone. You don’t need to know them.”
Russia’s interest only seemed to grow. “What do you mean gone? Did they leave you? You look so happy, why would they do that?” Weimar opened her mouth to answer, but he continued. “I wanna know them! Why can’t I know them? They look nice.”
She covered her mouth to stop herself from blurting out. They’re dead. They’re all dead! She forced herself to take a deep breath. I can’t simply tell him that. He’s so little. It’s not true, either. She squeezed her eyes shut.
A small, cold hand on hers made Weimar open her eyes.
“Mama?” Russia said, impossibly quiet. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t want to make you cry.”
Weimar put the photo on the floor and embraced him. “It’s not your fault, Russia. I don’t like talking about my old family, that's all.”
Russia hid in the crook of her neck. “Why?”
Weimar sighed. “My siblings and I had to separate. And my fathers didn’t have a choice. They had to leave forever, and they weren’t allowed to come back.” She held him tighter, tears falling down her cheeks. “They… they died. I miss them a lot.”
“Oh,” Russia mumbled. “Then I miss them too.”
Weimar pulled away, laughing a little bit. “Thank you, Russland. I appreciate it.” She patted the top of his ushanka. “Now, I’m going to put this back, alright? Don’t tell your papa that I have this picture. I don’t want him to be worried.”
“I won’t, Mama.” Russia hugged her again. It was brief, but he put so much love in it that Weimar didn’t mind. “I promise.”
Weimar chuckled. “You better not break it.”