This Way is an unforgettable, emotional journey of love, resilience, and the uncharted roads that shape our lives. Alina's world is turned upside down when she leaves Georgia and heads to New York, chasing a dream while battling the shadows of her p...
As the days passed, I found myself in this strange new routine. Mikhail was always busy with work, dance rehearsals, and his new job commitments, leaving me to manage our new life in California. I spent most of my days at home, nesting in the little house we made into our own. The walls were starting to fill with our things, and the sound of Mikhail's voice when he'd come home filled the rooms, making them feel less empty.
But there was this growing thing between us-this deep pull of longing that was hard to ignore. As my stomach rounded out, the changes in my body were undeniable. Three months along, and I was already starting to feel the weight of it. But there were moments when I'd catch myself staring at Mikhail, seeing the way he looked at me, the tenderness in his eyes, and all I wanted was to feel close to him in the way we used to.
It wasn't that Mikhail wasn't affectionate. He was. Every day, he'd come home and kiss me gently on the forehead or the cheek. He'd always ask how I was feeling, what I ate that day, and if I'd gotten enough rest. But when it came to anything physical, he was adamant. "Not until after the baby," he'd say gently, but with such seriousness that I knew there was no arguing it.
At first, I was frustrated. I wanted him. I wanted to feel the closeness we once shared, the heat of his touch, the way he would look at me like I was the only person in the room. But his devotion to my well-being-especially now that I was pregnant-kept me grounded. I knew he was doing it out of love, even if it made me feel a little distant sometimes.
The mornings were the hardest. I would wake up early, before Mikhail, and the house would be quiet. I'd make myself breakfast, careful to eat well, but my thoughts always returned to him. I'd imagine what it would be like when the baby came, how things would change, and the bond we would share as a family. And yet, I missed that closeness-those intimate moments that made me feel like I wasn't just carrying a child, but still *his* woman, too.
One morning, I was sitting at the kitchen counter, my hand gently resting on my stomach as I sipped my coffee, when I heard the front door open. Mikhail's voice echoed from the hallway, low and tired. I couldn't help the smile that stretched across my face as I stood up to greet him.
"Hey," I said softly, walking toward him as he stepped into the kitchen, his jacket in hand and a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from a long day. He smiled at me, his expression softening the moment our eyes met.
"Hey, baby," he said, his voice hushed, as if he was trying to keep the moment sacred. He leaned down and kissed my forehead gently, brushing his lips over my skin like it was the most precious thing. "How are you feeling today?"
I couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension from earlier in the day slipping away. "I'm good. Just tired. You?"
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"Exhausted," he said, dropping his bag on the counter and taking a seat next to me. "Rehearsals were brutal today, but I'm glad to be home."
