Ch 60: Toward the Light Ahead
The wind was warm now—soft, steady, carrying the scent of thawed earth and distant pine. It was Elena's second spring in the Volkov mansion. A full year since the wedding on the cliff.
She stood at the stone wall overlooking the sea, her hands resting on the rough rock, tilting her face toward the breeze. The gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp. Below, the waves crashed in a rhythm she knew as well as her own heartbeat.
Behind her, she heard footsteps in the grass. Kazimir’s arms came around her from behind. His hands settled first on her belly, spanning the curve where their daughter grew. Then, with practiced gentleness, he slid his palms beneath the swell, lifting just enough to take the weight off her lower back.
Elena exhaled, her shoulders dropping. The relief was immediate.
"You wandered off," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.
‘I wanted to see the sea. Needed air.'
"How long?"
'Not long.'
"You shouldn't walk alone this close to the edge."
‘I wasn't alone. You were right behind me.’
He huffed a quiet laugh against her hair, his breath stirring the loose strands at her temple.
For a long moment, they stood like that—wrapped in each other, watching the waves. The sun was high and warm, the sky cloudless. The breeze picked up, carrying the scent of salt and something green—new grass, perhaps, or the early wildflowers blooming along the cliff’s edge.
Elena closed her eyes to feel it fully: the warmth on her face, the steadiness of his hands, their daughter shifting inside her.
Her thoughts drifted to the first time she left this place many months ago. She had watched a child running, laughing, falling, getting up again. She had wept because she couldn't remember her mother's face.
But recently, the memories had begun returning—slowly, piece by piece. Now, when she closed her eyes, she could see her mother not in detail, but in feeling. Warmth. Safety. A voice soft and low, like the tide pulling back. Elena breathed in, letting the memory settle over her.
Kazimir’s hands shifted, lifting just a little more.
"You're thinking too hard," he said.
‘I'm remembering.’
"Good memories?"
‘Mostly.'
He kissed her temple—soft, absent‑minded, the kind of kiss that came from habit and comfort. A year of marriage had taught him exactly when she needed tenderness.
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She pressed her hand over his on her belly. Beneath her palm, she felt their daughter move—a small, insistent kick, already demanding attention.
Kazimir smiled. "She's impatient."
'Like her father.'
"Like her mother."
Elena snorted. Kazimir’s chest shook with a quiet laugh.
Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small paper bag—creased, greasy on the bottom, tied with a cotton string.
Elena's breath caught. She recognized the smell instantly—warm butter, toasted almonds, caramelized sugar. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bag.
‘Cornetti?’ she signed eagerly.
Kazimir's smile widened. "From the kitchen. Ophelia made them this morning."
He untied the string and held the bag open. Inside were three golden pastries—flaky, dusted with sugar, still faintly warm.
She reached in and took one. The pastry was soft and fragile in her fingers, its layers yielding under her touch. She brought it to her mouth and bit down.
The taste flooded her—sweet, rich, perfect: butter melting on her tongue, almonds warm and nutty, sugar dissolving into crystalline sweetness. This time, she tasted everything.
The memory rose unbidden.
That first winter. The kitchen before dawn. Her body pressed against the butcher’s block, cold and trembling. A single cornetto placed on the scarred wood. She had been certain it was a trap. Certain she would be punished for taking it.
But now she understood. That pastry had been an offering—the only way Kazimir had known to acknowledge a stranger's presence. A silent gesture from a man who didn’t yet know how to speak to her. He had been watching her even then. Before she could speak. Before she could face the world without flinching.
She swallowed. 'It's good.'
"Then eat all of them. I'll get more."
Elena shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. She broke off a piece and held it to his mouth. ‘Here.’
He looked at her, then at the pastry. He leaned forward and took it from her fingers.
Elena leaned back against Kazimir’s chest, his arms still wrapped securely around her, his chin resting on her shoulder.
'Thank you,’ she signed.
"For the cornetti?"
‘For everything.’
He was quiet for a moment. Then his arms tightened around her. “We don’t keep score. You told me that.”
Elena smiled and turned back to the sea.
The waves were calmer now, the tide pulling back. A few gulls landed on the lower ledges, preening, squabbling. One of them—smaller than the others—hopped from rock to rock, testing its footing before attempting a short, wobbly glide.
Elena watched it and thought of that little gull on her twenty-second birthday—the one she had watched fight the waves. She had been certain it would drown. But it had shaken the seawater from its feathers and flown away.
Now she looked down at her belly, at Kazimir’s hands cradling the curve where their daughter grew. Nadia.
She would teach her daughter a different story: Silence was not safety. Fear was not a cage unless you let it be. And if she fell—if the waves came and tried to sweep her away—she would have hands to catch her.
The sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sea in shades of gold and rose. The gulls settled on the cliffs, their cries fading into the evening.
The baby kicked again—sharp, insistent, a tiny heel pressing outward with surprising force. The movement jabbed into Elena's bladder.
Elena winced, shifting her weight, reaching for Kazimir’s arm.
He turned her gently to face him. His hands bracketed her waist, steady and warm. His grey eyes searched her face, reading the fatigue she had been trying to hide.
“Too much standing,” he said, his voice threaded with concern.
'Maybe a little,' she admitted. ‘Take me home.’
He smiled and took her hand. She leaned into him as they walked, his hand firm at her back.
Elena looked back once, taking in the cliffs, the sky, the endless horizon. Then she turned away—toward the voices and laughter inside, toward the life waiting for her.
END OF MAIN STORY
Last edited by Feiya Phia 5/26/26