Chapter Text
He had wanted to be a mother for so long that, even now, he still believed it was all a dream he would wake up from at any moment.
The truth was, it had been harder than he had imagined at first.
Getting pregnant had become the number one thing on his list of goals, and he was having far too much trouble making it happen.
Why was it taking him so long?
Why, of all the people in the world—though he wouldn’t wish this on anyone—had he been the one forced to wait over and over again, to keep trying without giving up, only to watch the one thing he wanted so desperately remain out of reach?
For months, he had tried again and again.
That had been the arrangement he had made with his husband, Brandon. Though, really, he didn’t like calling it an arrangement, because the word made it sound frivolous and unimportant when, in reality, it was anything but.
They were deeply in love. They wanted a baby, and they genuinely wanted to make it happen. So they tried again and again, day after day.
They had tried everything.
Every method, every sexual position, every myth they found on Google, every piece of advice the women in the neighborhood offered after asking those uncomfortable questions that only they—and the most shameless people—seemed capable of asking.
“When is the baby coming?”
“Do you want to be a mother, dear?”
And whenever Harry didn’t answer, he would find himself bombarded with advice on how to make it happen. His acquaintances, whom he couldn’t exactly call friends, had their own suggestions, too, just like anyone else who thought they had the perfect recipe that would finally lead them to the thing they had been searching for so desperately.
Anything that fell into his hands and promised, even slightly, to increase his chances of getting pregnant, Harry tried.
It didn’t matter how questionable the source was.
He would close his eyes and do it. He would cross his fingers behind his back and whisper please, pouring all the panic, longing, and strength he didn’t know his body could summon into those two words.
Sometimes he even remembered the times when, after having sex with his husband, he would lie face down because he had heard a celebrity say that gravity would help the semen reach his uterus faster and make conception easier.
He had tried everything.
From herbal teas to strange sexual positions, from ridiculous advice to things that seemed to make at least a little sense.
Which, in reality, made absolutely no sense at all.
And still, it had taken him so long to get pregnant.
He remembered how much he cried, sometimes for days, because he couldn’t make it happen. How every negative test became a small disappointment he tried to pretend didn’t affect him, even though it was slowly killing him, dimming him like a lightbulb that flickered just before going out completely.
He told himself he shouldn’t get frustrated, that sooner or later it would happen because they genuinely wanted it. But then a single line would appear on the test, and his whole world would seem to become a little sadder.
A little more bitter.
His chest would tighten in a way that, honestly, he didn’t think could possibly be healthy. His hands trembled without permission, and the long nights he spent awake, unable to sleep like a normal person, reminded him of how he had ended up this way.
Brandon was always there for him.
He insisted they needed to stop every once in a while, that if it wasn’t happening, maybe it simply wasn’t the right time for them.
Maybe they needed to take a break from the long, endless rounds of sex they had every night.
He had even started having sex purely out of routine and habit, rather than pleasure. His mind, while his husband whispered dirty words between compliments, was somewhere else entirely.
He thought about how badly he hoped that, at the end of that round, the result would be different from the one he had grown accustomed to lately.
That this time it would be positive.
Harry never wanted to hear it.
He would say no and insist that they keep trying. That they needed to increase the number of times they found themselves tangled together in bed—or on any other surface of the couch—searching for a positive that would change their lives completely.
He wanted that baby.
He wanted it with a desperation he sometimes didn’t even know how to explain.
Was it really a dream he wanted to fulfill, or had it already turned into an unhealthy obsession that could frighten anyone looking at him from the outside?
They had only been married for two years, although they had been together for more than seven. They were in love, or at least that was what Harry believed.
Sometimes he couldn’t imagine another life for himself, one that wasn’t the life he had with Brandon, his faithfulhusband, the man he loved who worked as a lawyer at the best law firm in the city. A building known for being the best downtown, one every lawyer wanted to be a part of.
They had a good financial situation because of it.
They owned a house, although Harry would later discover that it wasn’t in his name, only his husband’s, and they didn’t have to worry about rent.
Everything seemed to be in its place.
As if it were a perfect fairy tale.
Harry could even focus on his marketing studies and take his degree at his own pace because his husband made sure he had every luxury. Brandon had been in love enough to offer him the chance to devote himself entirely to doing what he loved, without pressure or rushing, because he would simply take care of providing everything Harry needed when it came to money: the house, the bills, the car, the food, and a closet full of clothes he never even got around to wearing.
Or, at least, for a while, he had all of that and enjoyed it.
Because as the months went by, that too ended up taking a backseat.
He had abandoned his degree without even realizing the exact moment when finishing it and graduating had stopped mattering to him.
After all, why should he worry about exams, unfinished courses, or anything else when he had something much more important to think about?
Getting pregnant.
That was the only goal that seemed to matter.
And the more he tried, the more things were abandoned and pushed out of his mind, or off his list of priorities.
His family, which consisted only of his mother and his sister, Gemma.
His friends.
The city he used to enjoy wandering through without any particular destination or purpose.
The afternoons when he would sit beneath the sun in whatever park he happened to find, a book in his hands and his bag resting beside him.
That bag always carried the same things: a notebook, a pen his mother had given him as a gift, and a small lip gloss he hid from Brandon.
His husband insisted those were feminine things.
Harry had never agreed.
Even so, the idea intimidated him enough that, whenever he left the house, he would hide the gloss at the bottom of his bag. He would put it on when he had been away from his husband for several hours and quickly wipe it off just before coming home.
It was a small thing, almost insignificant, but he had learned to do it without thinking too much about it.
His bag also carried flowers, sometimes tied together with a ribbon, that he always picked along the way to whichever park he had chosen that day.
Sometimes he baked cakes, loaves, or oatmeal cookies that he carried around with him in a Tupperware container.
He used to do many things like that.
He would meet his friends for food—or rather, his one friend, Thomas. He would go out and explore the city. He would spend afternoons reading beneath the sun.
On Fridays, he would meet his sister for the famous “Pasta and True Love Friday,” as she had decided to call it years ago.
They drank wine, although lately Harry had stopped because he knew that if he was trying to get pregnant, he couldn’t allow himself to.
He wasn’t going to ruin it, thank you very much.
They ate the pasta his sister made, always different. Different shapes, different sizes, different sauces. There was always something new to try, and they always ended up talking for hours.
There was also his mother.
His mother taught him how to knit, how to cook, and so many other things that Harry had learned to love because he had learned them from her. They were small moments that had once been part of his life without him having to make any effort to find them.
Now, almost none of them existed.
Because he had chosen it that way.
Everything had been pushed to the back burner—fourth or fifth place, even—because Harry was too busy trying to get his baby.
And maybe that had been the beginning of the problem.
Because even when two people want exactly the same thing, wanting it too desperately can end up wearing away everything around it.
Like a bucket of water left forgotten in the yard, with various things submerged inside it that, over time, eventually begin to rust.
Harry was so focused on getting pregnant that he couldn’t see anything else.
He didn’t see the silences that hadn’t existed before. He didn’t see the small differences in the way Brandon looked at him. He didn’t see the times when his husband seemed to be physically there but with his mind somewhere else.
Harry attributed it to exhaustion.
To work.
To the long hours he spent away from home.
He had an explanation for everything. Because they both wanted the same thing.
Didn’t they?
He didn’t see the little things that had accumulated between them during those months of their long search. He didn’t see them because every part of his mind was occupied by a single thing:
Getting that baby.
Goddammit.
They could call it so many things, use so many adjectives to describe the situation he found himself in at that moment. But he didn’t care.
They wouldn’t last even a few days in his shoes.
And then, finally, it happened.
The positive.
Harry stared at it for several seconds, standing in the middle of the living room, before he truly understood what he was looking at.
His hands were shaking so badly that he was afraid the test would slip from his fingers and disappear somewhere in the room. His vision was blurry, making it difficult to focus on the little window on the test and read, over and over again, what it said.
He had bought everything from the most expensive tests to the cheapest ones. So many of them, maybe ten: different brands, different formats, different prices. But he had decided to take the one that simply displayed the word “pregnant” first, if he really was.
At that moment, it seemed like the most appropriate one.
Then he cried.
He cried from happiness, from relief, from exhaustion. From so many feelings he hadn’t realized his body had been storing up.
After so many months, so many attempts, so many negatives, and so many nights when he had wondered if he would ever manage it, there it finally was.
He had managed to get pregnant.
And he wanted to tell Brandon in the best way possible.
He thought over and over again about how to tell him.
That day, he cleaned the house for what seemed like hours. He tidied every room, from the guest room to the one that served as a “recreation room,” which they had never actually used. He rearranged things, moved furniture, and threw away anything he thought no longer belonged in their home.
He lit his favorite candles, with their scent of lavender and seasonal fruit filling every corner of the room, and left music playing in the background.
He prepared his husband’s favorite meal, a recipe he had learned from his mother and that, according to Brandon, always turned out well.
“Like everything you do, my love. Every time you put your hands in that kitchen, you work magic.”
Harry wanted to believe him.
He wanted that night to be perfect.
He wanted his husband to come home, see the dinner, understand immediately what was happening, and share in the happiness they had been waiting for so long.
He had imagined that moment so many times that he could almost see it right in front of him.
The happiness on his husband’s face. The tears on his cheeks. The endless embrace they both needed.
He had imagined the whole scene in his head.
When Brandon finally arrived, Harry was waiting.
He was smiling.
He had prepared everything for him.
And then he told him.
Without waiting for anything, as if the words escaped his mouth before he could even process that he had spoken them.
“I’m pregnant.”
Harry’s smile didn’t disappear immediately.
His eyes held back the tears fighting to spill down his cheeks.
First, he waited.
He waited for surprise, emotion, tears, anything that looked even a little like what he himself was feeling.
But Brandon’s reaction wasn’t the one he expected.
And it would take Harry a very long time to understand that, in reality, that had been the last time he believed everything was going the way he had imagined.
... 🍓
Then there were moments like this, when Alenka found herself beside him in the living room of their small but cozy home, decorated with so much love, coloring in her favorite animals book.
The one Harry had given her the previous Christmas. The one that seemed endless because of how many pages it contained.
He had been saving extra money to buy it for her, making more sacrifices than necessary because he knew how much his four-year-old daughter had wanted it ever since she had first seen it.
It had been harder than he had initially thought, but he had been so excited counting the pounds he had been saving for months and realizing that, after four long and difficult months, he had finally managed it.
£93 very well spent.
Harry still remembered the feeling of relief he had experienced when he walked out of that store.
A beautiful hardcover book, with 320 pages and countless designs to color, rested in his hands as he made his way through the aisles toward the checkout, where he had to pay for it before he could take it home.
An aisle that was exciting, but endless.
He didn’t have to experience, at least on that occasion, the feeling of standing in front of the cashier and wondering whether there would be enough money in his bank account, whether his card would be declined.
He had saved the money, and he had done it.
He was very calm about his purchase.
And it was those little moments that reminded him that everything had been worth it.
Every pound he had saved, every little thing he had gone without, and every wait he had endured. Everything.
Even the nights when he had cried silently, wondering how much longer he would have to wait before he could hold her in his arms.
Because now she was there.
Alenka was there.
Sitting beside him in the living room, her legs crossed on the couch and the book resting on her little lap, completely focused on deciding what color she wanted to use for each animal. The tip of her tongue peeked slightly between her lips in concentration, and there was a small spot of paint on one of her fingers that would probably end up somewhere on her face before the afternoon was over.
And Harry watched her.
He watched her and thought, yes.
Everything had been worth it.
The waiting, the endless months, the tears, the attempts, the nights when he had felt like he would never get what he wanted.
Every time he had thought that maybe the baby would never come had been worth it.
Because she had come.
And now he could watch her grow right in front of his eyes.
He could buy her an animal book he knew she had wanted for months. He could sit beside her and watch her color for hours. He could listen to her talk about anything that crossed her mind and pretend he understood every story she invented as she turned the pages.
He could have her.
And that was all Harry had wanted for so long.
Sometimes he thought he had spent too much time wishing for her not to feel this way.
He had spent so long imagining what it would be like to have her that it still felt strange to finally be able to reach out a hand and touch her.
His baby.
His little Alenka.
And then he understood that, perhaps, all of it had been worth it.
“Mommy, what’s your favorite color?”
The question pulled him out of his thoughts.
Harry blinked a couple of times before looking at his daughter again, as if only then remembering that he had been watching her silently for several minutes. Alenka remained sitting in front of him, completely focused on her drawing, surrounded by all the colors he had managed to gather over the years.
There were pencils of different sizes, some new and others so worn down they barely retained their original shape. Many had been gifts from her grandmother, while others Harry had bought at secondhand stores because, according to him, there was no point spending too much money on something a four-year-old would probably end up losing under the bed or somewhere else that would make it difficult to find again.
She took great care of everything her mommy gave her. Harry had patiently taught her, using words his daughter could understand, how important it was to take care of the things that belonged to them, as well as other people’s things and everything around them. He explained that everything had value and that things cost a lot to acquire, and that even if it wasn’t difficult for some people to get them, she still had to learn to take care of them.
It had never been difficult for Alenka to understand.
Despite her young age, and not only because she was his daughter, Harry could see how intelligent his baby was and how easily she understood that her mommy—and people in general, but especially her mommy—worked very hard to get the things they had.
Harry smiled.
“What’s that question about, bunny?”
Alenka looked up from her drawing.
“Nothing, Mommy. I’m just coloring and I don’t know what color to make the butterfly I picked for today.”
Harry let out a small laugh.
“Well, butterflies come in all kinds of varieties. There are lots of different sizes, colors, and shapes, so you can make it whatever color you want.”
As he spoke, he reached out a hand and gently stroked her hair.
Alenka sighed.
An exaggerated sigh. Dramatic. As dramatic as her little lungs allowed.
The kind Harry had already learned to recognize.
“But, Mommy...” she complained, setting the pencil down on the book. “I’m asking you because I want to color it for you. It doesn’t matter what colors they really are.”
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“For me?”
“You’re my only mommy,” she said, pointing a tiny finger toward one of the walls. “To put it with the other drawings.”
Harry followed the direction of her finger and smiled.
The few empty walls left in that room were practically covered in drawings.
There were butterflies, flowers, crooked houses, animals that seemed to belong to species that didn’t exist, and portraits of Harry in which, depending on the day, his arms were far too long, his hair was impossible colors, or his head was disproportionately large.
She had made every single one of them.
Every one had been given with little hands and a proud smile.
And Harry hadn’t been able to get rid of a single one. He didn’t want to, either, because those drawings were what gave those walls their definition of home.
“Ah...” he murmured, pretending to think. “Well, but don’t get mad at me.”
Alenka barely had time to frown before Harry lunged at her and started tickling her stomach.
“Mommy! Please!”
Alenka’s laughter filled the room.
She tried to escape, wriggling between the pillows while Harry kept tickling her, until she finally surrendered and lay sprawled across the couch, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. Her brown curls were going in every direction, and her bright red cheeks were proof of how hard she had been trying to keep her mother from winning the tickle war.
“Okay, okay!” she begged between giggles. “Mommy, stop!”
Harry finally stopped.
“All right, all right. But let it be known that I won this time, bunny.”
Alenka took a couple of deep breaths before picking up her pencil again.
“So which one?”
Harry looked at the colors in front of her.
“Well... my favorite color is blue.”
Alenka immediately searched through her pencils.
“You have a lot of blues,” Harry added, pointing at them. “So you could start there.”
“And another?”
Harry pretended to think.
“I also really like pink.”
Alenka looked at him for a few seconds.
Then she turned her attention back to her drawing.
“Mommy.”
“Yes?”
“Blue like my eyes.”
Harry smiled.
A small smile, the kind that appeared without him being able to stop it.
“Yes, my love.”
He gently stroked one of her cheeks.
“Blue like your eyes. That’s exactly why it’s my favorite.”
Harry was still surprised that Alenka could recognize so many colors at only four years old. He knew it was something remarkable for a child her age, but to him, it meant so much.
He had spent so many hours teaching her little things that, over time, had stopped seeming little.
Colors.
Shapes.
Animals.
The names of the things they found around them.
He had been the one to sit with her on the floor of their home and spend entire afternoons pointing at objects, asking her what color they were, and celebrating every time she got one right. He had been the one to bring colored pencils to the park and turn an ordinary afternoon in the sun into a little improvised lesson. The one who had taught her the names of the animals in the books they could afford to buy, and who had invented games so she could learn shapes without realizing she was learning.
Maybe other children learned those things in preschools their parents could afford to send them to every day.
Maybe other children spent their vacations in luxurious places, received expensive gifts, had tablets, phones, or even videos and apps designed to teach them all those things.
Harry would have loved to give her that too.
Of course he would have.
He had wanted to take her on vacation, show her new places, buy her gifts that he didn’t have to think about for weeks before deciding whether he could afford them.
But he hadn’t been able to.
So he had found other ways.
And, in the end, it had been the two of them.
The two of them sitting on the floor of their little house.
The two of them exploring the neighborhood parks.
The two of them talking for hours about colors, animals, shapes, and anything that could spark Alenka’s curiosity.
Harry couldn’t give her everything he wanted to, but he could give her his time.
And that was something she had never lacked.
The following week, Alenka would also be starting preschool.
For the first time, Harry had managed to enroll her in one of the most expensive and prestigious preschools in the city. It was a place he had never imagined being able to send her to, far too expensive for someone like him, but it offered a few scholarship spots each year.
And, despite all the negative thoughts that swam through Harry’s mind every day, Alenka had gotten one.
Harry still couldn’t quite believe it.
During those holidays, he had made it his goal to reinforce everything she already knew before she began this new stage. Not because he thought his daughter needed to know more than everyone else, but because he wanted her to arrive feeling confident.
He wanted her to know that she could learn.
That she could ask questions.
That she could make mistakes.
And that, even though Harry hadn’t been able to give her the luxurious childhood he had once imagined for her, he would always find a way to give her something.
His time. His patience. His love.
And maybe that had been enough too.
Alenka smiled, satisfied, and picked up one of the blue pencils.
“Then I’m going to make it blue.”
“I think that’s an excellent choice for such a beautiful butterfly, bunny.”
“And can I put pink on it too?”
Her tongue curled around her little lip, something she did whenever she was thinking very hard.
“Of course.”
“And purple?”
“That too, bunny.”
“And yellow?”
Harry laughed.
“Alenka, you can give it every color you want. Like a rainbow turned into a butterfly!”
She seemed to think about it for a few seconds. Maybe searching her mind for the image of a rainbow so she could understand what her mother meant.
“Then it’s going to be the prettiest butterfly in the world.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
“Like you, Mommy. The prettiest mommy in the world.”
Alenka returned to concentrating on her drawing, moving the tip of the pencil very carefully inside the lines.
Harry watched her for a few more seconds.
There was something about seeing her like this that could still surprise him.
Four years.
Four years since that little life had arrived and changed absolutely everything.
And although sometimes it was difficult for him to believe that so much time had really passed, all he had to do was look at her to remember why he had wanted to become a mother so desperately.
Because it hadn’t been the pregnancy.
It hadn’t even been the moment he saw that first positive test.
It had been this.
A four-year-old girl sitting in front of him, surrounded by colored pencils, worrying about which color would be perfect for a butterfly she wanted to give her mommy.
And Harry thought, once again, that yes.
Everything had been worth it.
Harry continued watching her for a few more seconds as she finished coloring the butterfly.
The sun had completely disappeared behind the windows, and the living room was lit only by the lamps Harry had turned on a while ago. Outside, the city was beginning to fill with little lights, and the silence of the night was becoming more and more noticeable.
Alenka was still focused on her drawing.
The tip of the blue pencil moved carefully inside the lines, trying not to leave any blank spaces.
Harry smiled.
“Bunny.”
Alenka’s little hand stopped.
She sighed again. Another one.
Harry let out a small laugh.
“You don’t sigh this much when you’re playing with your dolls.”
“Because they don’t interrupt me.”
Harry pressed a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended.
“Oh, they don’t?”
Alenka shook her head.
“No.”
“What a meanie you are to me.”
Alenka finally looked up and smiled.
It was impossible for her to stay angry with her mommy. Harry was her best friend.
The person she went to when she wanted to tell someone something, when she needed help, when she was scared, or simply when she wanted to share any little thing that crossed her mind.
She could pretend she was upset.
She could sigh, roll her eyes, and make him believe for a few seconds that he had actually managed to offend her.
But it never lasted very long.
Because, in the end, she always ended up laughing with him.
“What?”
“I was thinking that, when you finish the butterfly, we could get ready for our bath.”
Alenka’s eyes immediately lit up.
“Together?”
“Together.”
The smile appeared on her face before she could try to hide it.
“With bubbles?”
“With bubbles.”
“And music?”
“Music too.”
“And can we use lots of water?”
Harry let out a small laugh.
“As much as we need.”
“But not too much, Mommy,” Alenka immediately corrected him. “We have to save water.”
Harry stared at her for a few seconds, surprised.
“Oh, really?”
Alenka nodded very seriously.
“Yes. You taught me.”
Harry smiled.
“That’s right, bunny.”
And he gently stroked her hair.
Those baths were a tradition between them. They only did it once a week.
Not because Harry didn’t want to do it more often, but because those nights required time. A lot of time.
Time to prepare the bathtub, fill it with water, add the bubbles, choose the music, and let Alenka play while Harry sat beside her, listening to her talk about absolutely everything that crossed her mind.
They were moments he didn’t want to rush. Moments that belonged only to the two of them.
“After the bath,” Harry continued, “we can pick out your pajamas.”
Alenka looked up again.
“Can I pick whichever ones I want?”
Harry smiled.
“Whichever ones you like best.”
And that had always been important to Harry.
Ever since Alenka had become old enough to express what she wanted, he had tried to teach her that she could do it.
She could choose what clothes to wear, what colors she liked, which toys she wanted to play with, or what book she wanted to read before bed. She didn’t have to choose whatever other people considered pretty or worry about whether things matched. She didn’t have to look at other children to decide what was right or wrong.
If she liked it, if she was comfortable, and she could move freely, then it was fine.
It didn’t matter if the shirt was too yellow for the pants she had chosen.
It didn’t matter if she preferred a piece of clothing that, according to someone else, belonged to another color, another style, or another way of dressing.
Harry didn’t want her to grow up thinking there were things she couldn’t wear because they weren’t meant for her.
She was still too young to understand many of those things, but Harry trusted that, with time, she would understand that she didn’t have to change what she liked to fit in with everyone else.
There were only a few things Harry wasn’t willing to compromise on. If it was cold, she had to bundle up.
If something was too short, uncomfortable, or didn’t allow her to move the way she needed to, they would find another option.
And if she insisted on wearing it, Harry would simply find a way to keep her warm.
One more blanket. Another throw.
Whatever was necessary.
Because he could let his daughter choose pajamas that didn’t match at all, but he would never let her be cold because of it.
And if keeping her warm meant taking one of the blankets from his own bed and being cold afterward, he would do it without a second thought.
Alenka looked back at her drawing.
“And then can we have dinner?”
“Yes.”
Harry paused for a moment before smiling.
“Actually, today you can choose what we’re having.”
Alenka put the pencil down on the book and looked at him.
“What do we have?”
Harry blinked, surprised.
“That’s it?”
“What?”
“I thought you were going to tell me what you wanted to eat.”
Alenka shook her head.
“First tell me what we have, Mommy.”
Harry smiled.
Once again, that answer managed to surprise him.
Any other four-year-old probably would have started naming her favorite foods without even stopping to think about whether they were available. Alenka, on the other hand, knew that she first had to see what they had at home and then decide based on that.
She knew her mommy couldn’t buy everything she wanted. She knew there were things that simply couldn’t be on the table because there wasn’t enough money. And Harry knew that it wasn’t something a child so young should have to understand, but he also knew he had never taught it to her through sadness.
He had taught it through care.
Through learning to appreciate what they had.
“Let’s see...” Harry murmured, standing up from the couch. “We have pasta. There are also a couple of eggs left, and I think there are still some vegetables in the fridge.”
Alenka seemed to think about it for a few seconds.
“Can we make pasta with egg?”
Harry couldn’t help smiling.
For a four-year-old, apparently, there was no more delicious combination in existence.
He, on the other hand, probably would never have chosen pasta with egg if he had other options. But he loved his daughter so much that he was willing to eat anything if it meant seeing her happy in front of her plate.
Besides, Harry had learned a long time ago that you couldn’t always choose.
Sometimes you had what you had. And you were grateful for it.
“We can make pasta with egg,” he replied.
“And cheese?”
Harry pretended to think.
“A little bit of cheese.”
Alenka smiled, satisfied.
“Then that’s what I want.”
“Pasta with egg and a little bit of cheese.”
“Yes.”
Harry leaned down and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.
“Perfect.”
Alenka picked up her pencil again, but before she started coloring, she seemed to remember something.
“Mommy.”
“Yes?”
“We can have some vegetables too.”
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Vegetables?”
Alenka nodded very seriously.
“Yes. We didn’t eat vegetables today.”
Harry had to hold back a smile.
“That’s true.”
“So we can eat them at least once today.”
“You’re right.”
Harry moved a little closer to her and tucked one of her curls behind her ear.
“You know what? I love that you remember that.”
Alenka smiled proudly.
“You taught me.”
Harry felt his chest fill with something warm.
“Yes, my love. I taught you.”
And perhaps that was one of the things he loved most about watching her grow.
It wasn’t just that she learned colors or could recognize animals and shapes. It was watching her remember the little things he had tried to teach her over time. Taking care of her things. Saving water. Eating her vegetables. Being grateful for what she had. Understanding that they couldn’t always buy everything they wanted and that it didn’t mean they had any less love for each other.
Alenka went back to concentrating on her butterfly.
Harry checked the time.
“All right, now finish coloring it because then we have to take a bath, pick out your pajamas, make dinner, and get everything ready for tomorrow.”
Alenka stopped moving the pencil.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Is tomorrow when I go to preschool?”
Harry smiled.
“Yes, my love.”
Excitement returned to Alenka’s eyes.
“Am I going to meet other kids?”
“Yes.”
“And my teacher?”
“That too.”
“And are you going with me?”
Harry felt something small tighten inside his chest.
“Of course I’m going with you.”
Alenka seemed reassured by the answer and returned to concentrating on her butterfly.
Harry watched her for a few seconds.
“And when we’re finished with everything, if you want, I can read you a story before bed.”
Alenka looked up again.
“A long one?”
Harry smiled.
“A long one.”
“About princesses?”
“About princesses.”
“And can I choose?”
“You can choose.”
Alenka smiled again and finally returned to her drawing.
Harry smiled too.
Perhaps those were the things he loved most about being her mommy. Not the big things or the extraordinary moments, but those little conversations that filled their days: bubble baths, improvised dinners, mismatched pajamas, bedtime stories, and the little lessons that, without realizing it, Alenka was going to carry with her forever.
And the certainty that, at least for that night, everything his daughter needed was right there.
With him.
With her mommy.
When they finally finished everything they had to do, the apartment fell silent.
The only room was dimly lit by the small lamp Harry had left on beside the bed.
They didn’t have much space, but Alenka had her own place. The crib Gemma had given her when she was born was still beside Harry’s bed. It was a little small for a four-year-old, but she still fit comfortably inside it, and some time ago Harry had decided to remove one of the sides so she could get in and out whenever she wanted without needing to wake him.
He had tried to keep it as comfortable as possible. A blanket underneath the mattress so it wouldn’t be so cold, another one on top, her little pillow, and her favorite pajamas.
Harry, on the other hand, slept on an old mattress he had had for years, one he had brought from his mother’s house when he moved out. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but he was used to it by now.
Alenka seemed much happier with her little crib. She was curled up beneath the blankets, warm, with only the tip of her nose peeking out above them.
Harry sat beside her.
“Well,” he murmured. “Now there’s only one thing left to do.”
Alenka opened her eyes.
“The story?”
“The story.”
A small smile appeared on her face.
Harry took the four books they owned and laid them in front of her.
“You choose.”
Alenka studied them for a few seconds. There weren’t many. In fact, they only had four books, and they probably already knew some of the stories almost by heart, but Alenka didn’t seem to care. She loved them all.
“Do you remember that I picked the princess one before?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Well...”
Alenka paused.
“I don’t want to read about princesses.”
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“And what do you want to read about?”
“Animals.”
Harry smiled.
“Well. We have one about an owl.”
Alenka shook her head.
“And one about a lion.”
Another shake of the head.
“And one about a wolf.”
Alenka kept looking at the books.
“Do we have one about a frog?”
Harry let out a small laugh.
“No, bunny. We don’t have any about frogs.”
Alenka seemed slightly disappointed. Harry watched her for a few seconds before adding:
“But we can make one up.”
Alenka’s eyes lit up again.
“Really?”
“About a frog.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
Harry adjusted the blanket around her a little better.
“Then I need you to help me.”
“How?”
“Well... we have to think about what our frog is like.”
Alenka thought for a moment.
“He’s green.”
“Very good.”
“And he has a family.”
“A big family?”
Alenka nodded.
“Yes.”
Harry smiled.
“All right, then our frog has a big family.”
Alenka seemed to remember something.
“Tilly has a frog.”
Harry frowned slightly.
“Tilly has a frog?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
Alenka nodded.
“On her shirt.”
Harry let out a small laugh.
“Oh. So Tilly has a frog on her shirt.”
“Yes.”
“That’s different.”
Alenka smiled.
“I like her frog.”
“You do?”
“Yes. It reminds me of you.”
Harry stared at her.
“Me?”
Alenka nodded and lifted one little hand to Harry’s face. First, she gently touched beneath his eyes, then his cheeks, as if trying to find exactly what she was seeing in her head.
“Because of your face when you smile.”
Harry felt his smile escape before he could stop it.
“My face?”
Alenka nodded.
“Your eyes...” she said, gently touching around his eyes. “And your dimples.”
Harry let out a small laugh.
“My dimples?”
“Yes. Here.”
She touched one of his cheeks again.
“When you smile, they do this.”
Alenka tried to imitate him, squeezing her eyes shut and stretching her cheeks into an exaggerated smile.
Harry couldn’t help laughing.
“Like this?”
“Yes. Just like the frog.”
Harry shook his head, still smiling.
“I don’t know where you get these things from.”
Alenka settled more comfortably beneath the blankets.
“So are you going to tell me the story?”
Harry took a deep breath and looked at her.
“All right.”
He settled beside the crib, resting one arm on the edge.
“Once upon a time, there was a little frog who lived with his family in a little house near a pond...”
Alenka listened with wide eyes.
“The little frog was very curious. He always wanted to know what was on the other side of the pond, what animals lived in the forest, and why the stars appeared in the sky every night.”
Harry continued speaking softly. He invented a forest, a huge pond, and a family of frogs who lived together and, although they sometimes argued, always found a way to come back to one another.
Alenka asked a question here and there along the way. She wanted to know where frogs slept, what they ate, whether they were cold during winter, and whether the little frog had a mommy.
And Harry answered every one of them, because he didn’t care how long the story lasted as long as Alenka wanted to keep listening.
Little by little, Harry’s voice grew quieter and Alenka’s eyes began to close. Harry noticed when the questions stopped coming. He watched her for a few seconds, reached out, and adjusted the blanket around her body. Then he gently stroked her forehead.
“And then,” he continued in a whisper, “the little frog went back home, where his family was waiting for him.”
Alenka opened her eyes slightly.
“Mommy.”
Harry smiled.
“Yes, bunny?”
Alenka took a few seconds to answer.
“I like that you’re my mommy.”
Harry felt something close around his throat. He tried to smile as he gently stroked her forehead.
“Yeah? I like being your mommy too.”
Alenka closed her eyes again.
“I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world.”
Harry had to breathe deeply to hold back his tears.
“I wouldn’t trade you for anything either.”
Alenka’s little hand moved beneath the blanket until it found Harry’s fingers. She held them gently.
“I want you to be my mommy forever.”
Harry felt his eyes begin to fill with tears.
“And I want to be, my love. Forever.”
Alenka remained silent for a few seconds. She seemed to be thinking about something.
“And if someday I come back as a frog...”
Harry let out a small laugh through his tears.
“As a frog?”
“Yes.”
“And what happens if you come back as a frog?”
Alenka opened her eyes slightly.
“I want you to be my frog mommy.”
Harry laughed. This time he couldn’t hold back his tears. He didn’t know where she got those ideas. He didn’t know how a four-year-old could say things capable of making his heart feel so full and so painful at the same time.
He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead.
“All right, bunny.”
Alenka smiled faintly.
“Really?”
“Yes. If you ever come back as a frog, I’ll find you.”
Alenka seemed satisfied with that answer and closed her eyes again.
Harry stayed there watching her for a few more seconds, still smiling.
“Good night, my little bunny,” he whispered.
Then he let out a small laugh.
“Actually... good night, my little frog.”
Alenka didn’t answer anymore. Her breathing had become slow and peaceful, completely surrendered to sleep.
Harry remained beside her for a moment, one hand resting on her little head, before slowly getting up. He didn’t have much to do to get ready for bed; he had already showered and was simply going to let his curls finish drying on their own. He looked toward the crib one last time before walking into the kitchen.
He left the door slightly open. He knew Alenka could open it by herself if she needed to get out. She was a smart little girl, and if she woke during the night and needed something, she knew perfectly well how to get up, walk over to find him, and call for him. But to Harry, she was still his baby, even if she could already do so many things on her own. That was why he preferred to leave the door slightly open, so that if she ever woke up and needed to come to him, she wouldn’t have to make any extra effort.
The kitchen was only a few steps from the bedroom. In fact, the entire apartment was small, and there wasn’t much distance between one space and another. It was the place they were living in now, their little home, the place Harry had managed to turn into something warm despite everything they lacked.
He walked over to the table and began gathering the dishes left over from dinner.
As he put them together, he thought about the life they had to live at that moment. There were days when he had to think far too much about money, about bills he still didn’t know how he was going to pay, about the things they needed, and about everything he couldn’t give them yet. Sometimes he wished he didn’t have to do those calculations in his head every time he walked into a supermarket or sat in front of an electricity bill he had to pay.
But even so, when he thought about his life, there was nothing he truly wanted to change.
Maybe he would change some of the worries. Perhaps he would like to live with a little less fear of not making it to the end of the month, or be able to buy Alenka everything she ever pointed at with excitement. But he wouldn’t change that little kitchen, or the shared bedroom, or the old crib Gemma had given them, or even the mattress he had been sleeping on for years.
Because all of it was part of the life they had together.
Theirs.
Harry left the last of the dishes on the counter and looked toward the bedroom. From there, he could just see part of the crib and the little shape of Alenka beneath the blankets.
He smiled.
The dishes could wait.
Tomorrow, after taking his baby to preschool, he would finish tidying up and wash everything at his own pace.
For now, he just wanted to sleep.
He turned off the kitchen light and slowly walked back toward the bedroom. He settled onto his old mattress, the ends of his curls still damp, and left the door slightly open as before.
For a few seconds, he listened to the silence.
Then, to Alenka’s peaceful breathing.
Harry closed his eyes.
And when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of frogs, of his little daughter, and of that wonderful life that, although it wasn’t perfect and sometimes turned out to be much harder than he had imagined, he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.