Page 48 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

Mine and Anna's child.

He stood less than three feet away in the sunlight, real and solid.

When I didn't respond, the little guy looked at me curiously. "Sir, I haven't seen you before. Are you a new teacher?"

His voice was soft, words sticky with childish sweetness.

I swallowed the roughness rising in my throat, keeping my voice as steady as possible. "Yes. My name's Ivan. I'm subbing for the school."

I looked at him. "What about you? What's your name?"

His eyes sparkled as he puffed out his little chest. "I'm Alex. I'm four years old!"

Alex.

I repeated the name in my head, my eyes burning. Like rolling too-sweet candy on my tongue, not wanting to swallow.

His father was Ivan. His mother was Anna. He was Alex. Our three names finally came together in this moment.

I pointed at the soccer ball by his feet. "Want to play together?"

He tilted his head, bouncing as he pushed the ball toward my feet. Sunlight filtered through the sycamore trees lining the playground, broken light falling across his face. Every strand of his bouncing hair carried Anna's shadow when she smiled.

I lifted my foot gently, pushed the ball to him.

He caught it, giggling as he ran forward, his short legs alternating in quick steps, the ball bumping clumsily under his feet.

I followed behind, all the words I'd stored up for years stuck in my throat. Couldn't get a single one out.

God. I never believed in him. But in this moment, I wanted to thank him.

Thank him for this unexpected reunion.

The bell rang.

Alex stopped, tilted his head at me, regret crossing his face. "TI have to go back to class. Can we play soccer again at recess?"

"Sure. I'll wait for you."

That day, whenever he was free, I stayed with him. Kicked the ball, crouched by the sandbox digging, sat on the steps listening to him talk about his favorite cartoons.

When he talked, he liked to gesture with both hands. When he got excited, he'd bounce on his toes, like a little bird that couldn't stop chirping. The sun moved from overhead to the west, painting the whole playground in warm, golden red.

After the dismissal bell rang, he stood on the steps at the school gate with his little backpack, face tilted up looking at me.

The strap hadn't been fixed right, hanging crooked on his left shoulder. He reached behind with his right hand, trying to grab it but couldn't quite reach.

I bent down and straightened the strap for him. He blinked, then smiled.

"Teacher," he asked, "I had so much fun today. Will you come tomorrow?"

I shook my head. "Not sure."

His mouth drooped, eyelashes lowering then lifting. Those gray-blue eyes held a flicker of disappointment. "If you don't come, I'll really miss you."

I crouched down, my palm settling on his fuzzy head.

So soft. Soft like Anna's hair. I couldn't help it—my fingertips pressed gently on his cowlick.