Page 44 of Unbroken

The house is surprisingly homey, given the starkness of the situation. The walls are painted soft neutral tones, the lighting warm and low. There's a lived-in feel—blankets draped over the couch, half-empty cups on a shelf, books stacked on the end table. It’s tight quarters but not cold.

Zoya opens the door and puts a finger to her lips. She wiggles her fingers in greeting, then gestures toward the bed where Luka is fastasleep.

My heart melts.

“How was he?” Vadka asks softly.

“Great,” she replies just as quietly. “I made him some warm milk and got him good and sleepy, but Rodion wore him out playing outside today, so he was exhausted. He fell asleep at dinner.”

I love this. I love them. I love that Luka doesn’t just have Vadka and me, both half human from our own grief, but others too. A whole little village helping raise him.

“I read him stories until he was dead asleep,” Zoya adds, her voice warm. “He was so cute; his head was on my shoulder.”

Vadka smiles and says softly, almost to himself, “He loves when we read to him.”

Then he crosses the room, lowering himself to his knees beside the bed. His face softens as he runs one large, calloused hand over his boy’s head. Gently, he strokes the damp hair back from Luka’s forehead.

He says something in Russian, something I don’t quite catch. Something about sweet dreams.

Zoya’s eyes are shining. Mine are too. Good. It’s not just me, then.

I kneel on the other side of the bed, looking down at the small, angelic form of my little nephew. There’s something about sleeping children that pulls on the heartstrings like nothing else. His cheeks are flushed rosy red. He’s wearing Superman pajamas that are already a little too tight, stretched over that still-round little belly.

Vadka and I both bend to kiss his forehead at the same time—and freeze, noses nearly touching.

I pull back first and lift Luka’s little hand and kiss each sweet knuckle. Then I arrange the blanket around him and push to my feet. Something about seeing him safe, breathing easy, at rest… it makes my heart rest too.

Then he stirs and rolls over. One sleepy eye opens.

“Papa,” he says quietly and then looks at me. His eyes flutter shut again, and he snuggles deeper beneath the blanket with a sleepy smile.

When Vadka gets to his feet, his eyes are shining too.

Why did we ever teach men that it’s wrong to cry?

If I ever have a son, I will make sure he knows that emotions are strength. That good men cry. That everyone cries.

Everyone.

When we leave the room, Vadka sighs heavily. I stifle a yawn. I’m so damn ready for bed.

Rafail meets us on the other side.

“So… there’s only one problem,” Rafail says, clearing his throat. He tucks his hands into his pockets, and I think this may very well be the first time I’ve ever seen Rafail looksheepish.

“These bunkers were built for couples. Rodion and Ember are in one room. Polina and I are in another. Luka’s with Zoya, and there’s only one room left.”

He looks away.

Oh god.

Oh no.

I know exactly what he’s going to say before he says it.

“That means you have this room, and it’s kind of tight quarters,” he says apologetically. “And there’s only one bed.”

Chapter 8

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