"Please, everyone sit down, and I will tell you everything," I ask them, because such news is better shared when everyone is seated so that each person can hear and understand every word, feel every emotion.
"We are ready, you can start," Victor says when everyone finally takes their seats. His gaze is serious but warm, full of support.
"We've been at the hospital these days, but don't worry, everything is fine," I begin from afar, feeling how everyone silently watches me, waiting for what I will say next. The silence becomes so thick that it feels as if you could hear every breath.
"Darling, don't delay, or someone's grandmother will definitely have a heart attack, and we'll have to call the ambulance," Maxim urges me with a slight smile, supporting me in this difficult moment, reminding me of the lightness of the moment.
"The doctor says I'm pregnant," I blurt out in one breath, and in that moment, it feels as if the room hangs in silence, filled with anticipation, joy, and awe. It is like an explosion of light in the room, a moment when time slows, and the heart fills with tenderness and happiness.
Elena Dmitrievna and Vera are the first to run to me, their faces glowing with genuine joy. Their eyes shine with warmth, and their smiles are full of such sincere happiness that I feel my heart tremble lightly. They hug me tightly, as if wanting to pass all their warmth and support in this important moment, making the hug a real shield from all worries and anxieties. Their congratulatory words sound like music, gentle and melodic, filling the room with light and happiness, as if the atmosphere itself is infused with the magic of celebration.
Grandmother, not holding back tears, hugs Vi, and her voice trembles with joy and gratitude. These tears, so real and deep, squeeze the heart and make this moment truly alive and touching — as if time slows its course to capture this pure sincerity.
"I'm so happy, my little granddaughter," she says when I approach her, and we hug too.
In this embrace, there is so much love and tenderness that it feels as if the whole world pauses for a moment, listening to the beating of our hearts. This is not just joy — it is tenderness, hope, and promise, felt in every touch.
"Thank you for inviting me to hear this wonderful news," she thanks me softly, her voice trembling with emotion, although I know all these words should be addressed to my man, who organized all this, not me. But in her eyes burns genuine appreciation, and it fills me with unusual warmth — as if her gratitude warms my soul too.
"It's thanks to you for not kicking me out almost four years ago and for caring for me and Mary. You are the best grandmother and great-grandmother in the world," I reply, trying to put all the depth of my gratitude and love into the words, attempting through them to convey all the warmth and respect she deserves.
After all the congratulations, the men come out with the cake — and in that instant, the room fills with the aroma of vanilla, chocolate, and something caramel-honeyed, as if the very sense of celebration dissolves in the air. The light scent reminds me of childhood, home gatherings, and those rare moments when everything in the world seems truly good.
Maxim and Victor carry the cake carefully, together, as if it is not a gift but a treasure. It is really big — almost the size of a tray. Multi-tiered, decorated with snow-white cream with delicate pink and golden accents, it shines like something from a fairy tale. The top is adorned with neat swirls, fresh berries, and golden beads, like dewdrops frozen on petals. Thin lines run along the side, like lace drawn by a master's hand. In the center of the cake — a chocolate inscription, neat, written with love: something personal, important, meaningful specifically for us.
The chandelier light plays on the glossy surface of the icing, and it seems as if the whole cake breathes celebration. Everyone involuntarily freezes — in this sweet beauty there is something touching, symbolic. The celebration becomes visible, tangible.
The men walk carefully, trying not to shake the structure. Maxim smiles, but in his eyes I read concentration, as if he carries not just a dessert, but a symbol of a new chapter in our life. Victor plays along — theatrically stepping, portraying a solemn procession, winking at those around. We all laugh, and this laughter is light, sincere, like in childhood.
They place the cake on the table, and in that moment, everyone understands: this is not just the end of the evening. It is a sweet chord, weaving together warmth, attention, care, and the joy of being together. At that moment, it feels as if even the air becomes sweeter and time slower. Mother-in-law brews tea and coffee, and we begin sipping the warm drinks, enjoying the moment and the company, as if every minute stretches into endless happiness.
I am truly happy to share this news with them — with the people who are dear and close to me. Mary is also with us, joyfully enjoying the treats — her childlike joy and bright delight, even though she does not fully understand yet what we are celebrating and what it means that I am pregnant, adds to the atmosphere of carefree happiness.
"Aren't you tired, my love?" asks my happy future dad, his voice soft and caring.
I look into his eyes and see an entire ocean of happiness there — so deep and tender that I feel like the most loved person in the world. His face glows, and the smile does not leave his lips — at this moment, I understand how happy he is and how strongly this miracle binds us.
"No, I'm having fun instead," I reply, and I laugh heartily the whole day, so much that my cheeks start to hurt from such sincere joy — happiness is so alive that it seems to overflow.
But happiness — it is exactly like that: pleasant, when your cheeks hurt from the immense joy living inside you, from the warmth that fills every corner of the soul.
"Yes, you always knew what fun is," he reminds me with a smile, as if recalling our brightest and most carefree moments together.
"I only found true joy with you. Before that, I was just as lonely inside as you were," I admit, feeling how the words fill with deep meaning and emotions that are hard to express with simple phrases.
"Now you are not alone. We have a big, friendly family, and today we celebrate that we will have a new addition," he says, hugging me, and I feel in his words a promise of support and love for life — a warm anchor that holds me through storms and joys.
"Thank you for my grandmother. I really wanted her to be here today, and you made my dream come true," I sincerely thank him, and my heart is filled with so much warmth and tenderness that I wish this moment could last forever.
"You're welcome, but I'm not the only clever one here," he says mysteriously, playing with words and making me smile — a light, warm touch of humor to our celebration.
"What do you mean?" I turn to him, trying to read something else in his gaze that might be hidden behind this wordplay.
"Our friend Vi helped. The idea was mine, but since I couldn't leave you, I entrusted him to get it," he tells me, sharing how everything is organized, and I see how proud he is and at the same time tender toward every moment, as if a little fairy tale lives in his soul.
"You both make me happy, thank you," I say, noting mentally that I will later go and thank Grandpa Vi for becoming part of our happiness — for helping create this wonderful day.
About thirty minutes later, I manage to have a private moment with him to talk. We quietly sit together, and the air hangs in a special, almost sacred silence — a moment when we can open our souls to each other and feel the full power of our unity, that invisible thread that binds us forever, no matter what.
"Thank you, Vi, for helping bring my grandmother today," I hug him tightly, putting all the depth of my gratitude into these words.
I feel his warm hands around me, like a reliable shield, giving me calm and confidence. In this embrace, there is something more than just support — it is a connection that warms my soul and fills it with light even in the hardest moments.
"You're welcome, Katrinka. She's also part of our little family, which will soon grow," he replies with a light smile, as if lit by quiet joy, with a soft hint at my still barely noticeable belly.
His voice carries tenderness that envelops me, and confidence, as if he already sees our future — our shared happiness, our dreams that will surely come true.
Suddenly Vi quietly says:
"Maxim is very worried about you."
At that moment, it feels like something inside me tightens, as if my heart seizes with cold, but I try not to show weakness. I say confidently:
"I know. There are concerns, though I'm sure nothing bad will happen."
All those dark premonitions that sometimes arise, I stubbornly push away, unwilling to give them the slightest chance to destroy my inner peace. I want to be strong — for myself, for my family, for the future we are building together.
Vi lowers his eyes, and his voice becomes even softer, as if fear and bitterness pierce through every word:
"You just didn't see his look after they brought you, and you hadn't regained consciousness yet. I've never seen him like that, even in his darkest moments in life. I got scared… what if you don't survive, he might really do what he tried before but never had the courage to."
My heart beats even faster, painfully and sharply — these words hit my soul heavily, causing a wave of terror and pain.
"Losing someone is always painful, and loved ones — even more so. We love each other and cannot imagine life without each other. Grandpa Vi, I will do everything so nothing irreparable happens," I firmly promise, feeling a flame of determination and hope rise in my chest, like a fire that cannot be extinguished.
He sighs deeply, and his voice carries sadness and helplessness:
"Sometimes some things don't depend on what we want or not, they just happen."
I don't want to agree with him, my heart protests against these words, but deep down I understand the truth. This awareness is heavy, like a burden pressing on my shoulders, but at the same time necessary — to not break, to not lose strength, and to move forward despite everything, despite fear and pain.