Page 99 of Imperfect Desires

Yelena stares at me for a moment, then exhales a breath of something between awe and affection. “You’re something else, you know that?”

I give her a look. “I’m hormonal and mildly traumatized.”

“Still,” Scarlett says, “it’s kind of poetic. After everything… you got your enforcer.”

I smile at that. Not the kind that flashes or dazzles. The kind that lives deep in the chest, anchored in something real.

“I didn’t want a hero,” I whisper. “I just wanted him.”

Scarlett lets out a soft “aww,” and even Yelena looks misty-eyed for a second before waving it away.

“Ugh. Emotions. Is this what being a mom does to you? I cried at a baby lotion commercial yesterday.”

We all laugh—and this time, it’s deep, full-bodied, healing.

For the first time since everything went dark, I feel like the light is finding its way back in.

The laughter fades into soft smiles, and a peaceful quiet settles between us—the kind that only comes when you’re surrounded by people who know your scars and still love you anyway.

Yelena shifts in her seat, rubbing slow circles over her belly. “He’s been kicking non-stop since we got off the plane. I think he’s protesting the turbulence.”

“Or maybe he just missed his cousins,” Scarlett says with a grin as the twins wobble away from the block pile, their tiny legs carrying them straight to Yelena.

She beams, arms outstretched as they tumble into her lap, squealing and clinging to her like she’s their long-lost favorite person.

“They’re huge,” Yelena gasps, tickling one of them gently while the other clutches at her necklace. “When did this happen?”

Scarlett watches them with a mix of awe and exhaustion. “Yesterday. And somehow also two years ago. Time’s a blur.”

“They missed you,” I say softly, watching the twins climb into Yelena’s lap like they belong there. “We all did.”

Yelena looks up at me, her voice warm. “We’re going to have a whole crew soon, you know. First cousins, growing up close… playing together, fighting over toys, stealing each other’s snacks.”

Scarlett chuckles. “Causing absolute chaos at every holiday.”

I smile, hand resting gently over my still-flat belly. “And they won’t just be cousins. They’ll be friends. They’ll always have each other.”

The thought makes something warm bloom in my chest. I didn’t grow up with that. None of us did. We were scattered, guarded, hidden. We learned too young how to survive—but these babies?

They’ll know love.

They’ll know safety.

“They’ll grow up knowing what it means to belong,” I whisper, blinking quickly as tears sting the backs of my eyes.

Scarlett reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “They’ll have everything we never did.”

Yelena nods, stroking the hair of one twin who’s already dozing against her belly. “And they’ll visit each other. Sleepovers. Summer trips. Matching little suits and dresses for the endless weddings we’ll have to attend.”

I giggle, already picturing it. “You think they’ll all be that close?”

“They will be,” Scarlett says firmly. “Because we’ll make sure of it.”

The three of us settle into a comfortable silence, one that conveys more than words ever could. There’s an unspoken yet unbreakable current running between us.

For the first time, we’re not just survivors of our past. We’re architects of the future.

The sun has shifted now, casting lazy golden streaks across the room, soft and warm. One of the twins has curled up at Yelena’s feet, completely asleep. The other is babbling nonsense into Scarlett’s hair as she rocks gently on the floor, humming something low and soothing.

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