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“I’ll make sure it’s all set up,” she says, irritated I’m still there. “Go.”

Olga would never speak to me this way. In fact, the only person who’d dare come close is Ilya, and even then, he knows just how far to push. Magda’s mood says she doesn’t care.

“He needs to get changed.”

The irritation grows. “Are you scared of some milk, Demyan? He’ll get dirtier. Here.” She shoves things at me and points to the back, and it’s clear she expects me to pick him up. Me, pick up the boy who hates me.

But he doesn’t now. He’s full of sugar and milk and his smile is still there. Best of all, the word mama hasn’t passed his lips.

I take a breath.

I’ve walked into deadly situations. Had the odds against me. I’ve faced and killed real human monsters.

Why the fuck am I terrified of a little boy?

Because, I realize, he’s mine. And I don’t want to fuck it up. I want him to love me like I love him. That love was sudden, and it’s still there, growing by the second. Is this how?—

I don’t want to think about Erin.

So I set down the things Magda gave me and I pick him up. He goes stiff, but he doesn’t fight me. He doesn’t cry. I hoist him on a hip and grab the plastic bowl and big silicone spoons from Magda and take him out into the sunshine.

“Mama? Where’s Mama?”His face starts to crumple and I toss him the scrunched-up foil I grabbed to use as a ball.

His face suddenly turns up into a smile and a giggle bursts free as the sun hits the silver, making it shine and seem toglow. He misses it by a long shot, but he runs to it, short, pudgy legs eating up the grass. “Mine. It’s mine.”

And he throws it up in the air where it lands a few inches from him. I come in and get it, handing him the bowl and spoon he’s been using as a drum.

Aside from the occasional mama and little bouts of tears, he’s mostly smiles and laughter. And screams. He screams when he’s sad, when he’s scared, and when he’s happy and excited, apparently, but I don’t mind when it’s from positivity.

He’s having fun.

And so am I.

Genuinely.

He’s delightful, intriguing, and so fucking adorable I can’t stand it. This little boy is also getting used to me. The fear’s forgotten when he wants to bang his bowl drum, play with the silver foil ball, or run around.

It’s all so surreal, that this little guy’s mine. I made him. The idea I’m a fucking father is something I’m still wrapping my head around.

But one thing I know, one thing I can’t ever forgive, is the boy has been alive for over two years and I didn’t know. That time was stolen. I’ll never get it back.

“Boss?”

I look up from where I’m sitting on the grass taking a video of Sasha playing and laughing to himself.

“We need a swing, some outdoor things for him to play on and climb,” I say to Ilya as I stop filming and put my phone away as I get to my feet. “Order some.”

“The room’s been set up for him, and I have clothes, shoes, and toys.” He opens a bag. “I brought some of them out, as Magda says he might need a change of shirt.”

“Sasha?” He stops and looks at me, suspicion creeping in. I pull out a T-shirt. It has a big friendly dinosaur on it. “Come here, please.”

He shakes his head and Ilya says, “He’s a child. Bribe him with a toy.”

I pull out what looks like a giant robot and he’s intrigued enough he comes over. We manage to get him in the shirt, which is a little too big, and I play peekaboo with him to stop him crying when he stands on the silver foil ball, crushing it.

He laughs hysterically and hugs the robot and the new ball Ilya hands him.

Sasha’s giggles are magic and I brush away the anger of what Erin took from me. Instead, I just try and enjoy the now.