December 9th, 2026- Three Months Later- One Year-

Yuri's POV- 1st Person

"Sacha!" I catch the little girl as she loses her grip on the edge of the couch and goes careening to the floor, sweeping her into my arms just in time. She seems confused by the abrupt change in position and looks around, gaze landing on something over my shoulder and reaches out her little arms, kicking her feet and asking to be either put down or brought to it. Glancing at the object, I find she's staring at the fluttering curtain by the open window, watching as the billowing fabric swells in the breeze.

I carry her towards it and let her touch the soft cotton, experimentally petting it and watching, mesmerized, as the light shines upon it, making it an almost luminescent white in the sun. She makes a few cooing sounds as the does this, enthralled by everything she sees. I smile slightly as I watch her, loving to see the interest in her small features, her eyes alight with curiosity. I can tell already how smart she is, able to sort different colored objects when that shouldn't happen for another six months. She's the light of my life, exceptional in every facet, or- almost every facet that is.

"Yuri-" I turn and find Beka standing in the doorway, watching us. "Ready?" I nod,

"Yeah, let's go," Gently, I untangle the curtain from my daughter's slightly sticky grip and carry her out the door after my husband.

Today is Sacha's first birthday, and we've decided to go to the park to celebrate. I know most people throw a big party, but Otabek and I don't like that kind of thing to begin with, and, as she's only one, Sacha couldn't care less. Plus, as she loves playing outside, she'll enjoy this more, we reasoned, and, as we've decided to go to the bakery afterward for something special, the overall experience won't be lacking. 

Otabek grabs the stroller, taking it outside, while I follow with the baby bag (as stupid as it is) and the baby, although I can't really call her that anymore, toddler now being the appropriate term.

Setting Sacha down in the stroller and clipping her in securely, we walk along in the warm sunlight. Despite it being early December, the day isn't a cold one, and, bundled up in three layers of clothing, Sacha seems fine, smiling and giggling at things as we pass them by on our way to the park.

We walk slowly, enjoying the fresh air and cool breeze, smiling lightly at each other as we go. By the time we reach our destination, the sky is clear and blue, fluffy white clouds dotting the horizon and drifting in the wind. 

We pick a spot and I lay down a small blanket, one hundred percent opposed to the notion of my delicate, clean daughter sitting on the ground. Plus, as she's just a walking baby, she possesses judgment in the negatives and is more than likely to try to eat the grass and dirt if we let her. 

At this thought, or, more specifically, the wording of it, my face falls slightly, something my husband does not miss. My eyes drift away from his questioning gaze and land on my daughter, using the tree beneath which we're situated to stand up. She hangs onto it, and, carefully, tentatively, takes a step toward the stroller, grabbing its side to make the transition. A small crease appears between my eyebrows at this, the omnipresent worries coming to the forefront of my mind.

"What is it?" My husband asks me and I sigh slightly, turning to him.

"It's going to sound really stupid," I warn but he motions for me to continue. "I'm worried about Sacha," I blurt out, "She isn't walking yet and she's a year old so it's more important than ever now and it seems like she's never going to- what if something's wrong?" He considers this for a moment,

"You know the average age for walking is 13 months right?" I nod hesitantly, "Well, we've still got time, it isn't like she's immobile, just watch her- she's gotten over to the grass in the last three seconds," I turn, and, seeing he's right, pull her back to my side, prying the green blades of foliage from her small fist. She whines slightly but doesn't put up much of a fuss, crawling out of my lap back to the little pile of toys a few feet away.

"I know that," I reply, "I just thought-" I trail off, hating myself for what I'm about to say.

"You thought she'd be faster?"

"Well," I sigh, "Yeah- is that horrible?"

"Yes," I snort,

"Thanks,"

"It is," He persists, "But you're genuinely worried about her instead of just being annoyed that she hasn't done it yet. That makes it better."

"That's something I guess," I reply, leaning back onto him as we watch our little girl play with her toys, crawling around and exploring the new environment.

"She'll be fine," He says gently, "Some kids just take longer than others, it'll come eventually." I nod,

"The pediatrician said her growth pattern's right on chart," I add, helping reassure myself. 

"Exactly," He says, "And," He continues, "If something's wrong, and I'm sure it's not," I nod when he waits for me to respond, "We'll deal with it, like anything else. We can handle it," I smile slightly,

"Yeah, you're right. We can handle it."

***

"Which one?" I whisper in my daughter's ear as she stands (with my assistance of course) at the bakery counter an hour and a half later. I lean down beside her and point to the glass case before us, inside of which are half a dozen beautifully decorated cupcakes that I know will be absolutely massacred if she gets her hands on them. Her little eyes are wide at the sight and she puts a hand on the glass just in front of the chocolate frosted cupcake, mouth half open and face longing. I laugh at the small girl and lift her into my arms, purchasing the miniature cake and taking it outside to the bench where my husband sits, guarding the stroller. 

I hand him the little box the baked good rests inside and set my daughter down between us on the bench. "Here you go," He says, handing the, now open, tin to her. Her small chubby hands grasp it, and, much to our amusement, she takes a bite. Icing smears all over her face, painting her cheeks with brown buttercream and freckling them with crumbs of the chocolate cake. Phone ready, I take dozens of pictures of the tiny girl, giggling happily with the remainder of the slaughtered treat in her hands.

Once she's done (and licking her cake-covered hands with enthusiasm) we decide it's probably a good idea to clean her up. The walk home is a quick one, the bakery only being around the corner, and I take her upstairs, setting her down in the baby-tub as my husband fights the stroller in the hallway. It's infamously difficult to collapse for storage, although it's manual claims that it's user-friendly, and I enjoy watching him try and fail repeatedly to get it to do what it's supposed to. I'm lucky, I almost never have to deal with its insolence, having been too heavily pregnant when we got it to try, and now being the self-proclaimed baby-manager whenever it's brought out.

When, at last, the toddler is clean and the stroller is safely packed away in the closet, we end up in Sacha's room, sitting on the floor and reading a book before bed. In hindsight though, it probably wasn't the best idea in the world to give her a sugary dessert only an hour before she's supposed to sleep. Sacha is currently refusing to stay put, crawling and cruising (walking while hanging on to furniture) around the room in complete and utter disregard for the highly interesting Goodnight Moon I proffer.

Eventually, giving up, Otabek and I abandon the attempt and watch her forays around the room, hoping she'll tire herself out in the process. My eyes follow her lazily as she takes hold of the leg of the dresser and pulls herself up from it. She takes a few tentative steps with its aid, then, changing her direction, stumbles away from it and comes toward me. It takes me a second to realize what's happening, but at Otabek's gasp, I fully comprehend the magnitude of this. She staggers with her arms outstretched to my side, and, collapsing when she trips over my leg, I catch her, holding her close.

"Good job!" I cry, lifting her up Simba-style, "I'm so proud of you!" Otabek gently extracts her from my hands and gives her a hug, looking like a proud papa-bear. I can't keep the grin off my face as she, after being placed about a foot away, toddles over to her dad to the chorus of;

"Just one more step- there you go! Good job, you're so good at this!" 

Eventually, as we'd hoped, the walking tires her out and, after ten minutes of this process accompanied by endless videotaping, she's asleep. After this, Otabek and I retreat to our room, both ecstatic. 

"I told you," He whispers in my ear as we lie in bed, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

"You were right," I whisper back, matching his grin in the darkness.

**Author's Note!**

700 reads!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Plus- Happy birthday Yuuri Katsuki!! (November 29th if you didn't know) I love him so much, honestly <3
Sorry for this exceptionally random author's note, and I'll see you next time!