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If it weren’t for me, the only father figure and family he had on this earth wouldn’t have been taken away. My presence in his life has brought so much pain that I can’t comprehend why he still wants me.
“I’m just so scared, Mikhaïl,” I finally admitted, my voice barely audible.
He let out a frustrated laugh and turned his back to me again. “Scared of me?”
“Yes,” I replied, my voice carrying a raw honesty I hadn’t intended to reveal.
“Why?”
“I’m… I’m scared of what you might do to me once you realize I could just be a passing phase,” I continued, feeling vulnerable. “I’m afraid you’ll abandon me once your feelings for me fade.”
“Is that what you think of me?” he snapped, his voice sharp.
I felt a pang of guilt at his words, realizing how much they must have hurt him.
But I couldn’t back down now, not after opening up like this.
“It’s not about what I think of you,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “It’s about my own fears.”
“What about mine?” he retorted. “You think I don’t have my own fucking doubts?”
I swallowed, suddenly aware of the complex emotions swirling in his eyes.
Maybe I had been too quick to judge, too quick to assume that I was the only one feeling vulnerable.
“I’m afraid of losing you too, Sofiya.”
He turned toward me, jaw tight, frustration burning in his eyes.
I felt a lump in my throat as I thought about what he said, how we might be more alike than I wanted to admit.
“I just… I don’t know how to do this, Mikhaïl.”
He closed the space between us, gently cupping my cheek.
“Let me handle it. All you have to do is trust me.”
He made it sound so simple, but maybe that’s what love is—taking a leap of faith despite the doubts.
“Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you,” he whispered against my lips. “I love you so much that every thought I have, everything I do, and every breath I take revolves around you.” His hand fell to his side. “But I won’t let you mess with me.”
I nodded slowly, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my face into the curve of his neck. As his familiar scent enveloped me, butterflies danced in my stomach.
It felt like home.
He’s my home.
“Ask me again,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Please.”
He studied my face.
I stepped back, giving him a bit of space.
He waited a moment, then slowly dropped to one knee.
From his pocket, he pulled out the small, velvety Tiffany box and opened it, revealing a stunning solitaire with micro-pavé diamonds on a delicate platinum band.
He looked up at me.
