**Author's Note!**

First and foremost, I'm not dead! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in SUCH a long time! School's been killing me and musical season (god help me!!) is starting so I haven't had any time at all to write. BUT- the Christmas break is coming up, tomorrow in fact, and I plan on publishing three chapters of this story (including this one) before the 25th! And now, without any more delay: Enjoy!

May 17th, 2029- Three Months Later- Three Years and Four Months Old-

Yuri's POV- 1st Person

With a sigh of relief, I sink back onto the couch, letting my head loll back against the cushion. It feels so good to sit down; after the day I've had I'm beyond exhausted. For the past week, Beka's been in Moscow, meeting with the Figure Skating Federation of Russia- though for what point neither of us know. 

This on its own wouldn't be a problem, we've been apart before and we will again; we'll survive. The issue is though: Sacha. Ever hear about the 'terrible two's?' Well, let me tell you, the three's are worse. Much worse. 

When she was two years old, Sacha was the way I prefer to think of her; an angelic little girl, sweet and happy and very well-behaved. Both Otabek and I were thrilled (and quite relieved) to find out how easy she was as a two-year-old, knowing that it'll be the hardest year until her teenage ones, and we have a while before those come around. Boy were we wrong.

Sacha, while being advanced in everything else, seems to be a bit behind her peers when it comes to behavior. For instance, at two she blissfully remained in the sweet toddler setting, if smarter than that. At three, however, she is wholely and hellishly in the defiant stage, the only word in her vocabulary seeming to be 'no.' 

I know this is just a phase, something everyone in her age group goes through (god knows I did, according to Grandpa the cat hated me) but, god, is it exhausting. Normally it isn't so bad, she has a good routine down, and, with Beka's help, our daily operations run fairly smoothly. With him gone, though, she's become far more difficult.

She misses him, I know that's what it is, and I feel guilty for messing with her little three-year-old sense of normal. I hate to think she feels as if her world could change on a daily basis or her father could just be ripped away from her, and I try to assure myself she doesn't. We did our best to explain to her that he'll be back in a week, but the departure was still all too hard. She cried when he left, and I almost broke down in tears myself, hating to see her so upset. But separation anxiety aside, with him gone, her behavior has taken a turn for the worse.

She's been so difficult this past week, and I suspect the only reason she hasn't ax murdered me is the promise that if she's well-behaved, she can stay up to wait for her dad to get home on Friday. Well, today is Friday, and, after her behaving like a little angel all day, I kept my word and let her stay up past her bed-time. Except for the fact that eight-thirty, the time Otabek was supposed to be home, came and went, yielding no results.

After waiting for twenty, thirty, then forty-five minutes, he still hadn't made an appearance and neglected to answer his phone. Once an hour had passed and it was nine-thirty, I decided we could wait no longer and put Sacha to bed, knowing a cranky, sleep-deprived three year old would not be fun to deal with tomorrow. 

I was right about that. Though not quite the tomorrow.

I had to drag her upstairs kicking and screaming (metaphorically) and force her to go to bed, bartering with three bedtime stories instead of one to make up for it. Even with that though, it took nearly two hours before I left, lying with her in her bed for a solid forty-five minutes until I was sure she was asleep. 

Now, it's a quarter to twelve and my husband still hasn't been in contact, let alone come home. 

I run a hand over my face, massaging my closed eyes as I struggle to fend off the headache forming behind them. Glancing at my phone, lying on the armrest beside me, I run through the possible scenarios in my head. The train could be late, stuck in a tunnel with no reception. Or, he could be delayed in Moscow with his phone out of battery. There are tons of logical explanations, I know that. But still, I can't help but worry. 

Ever since we got married, ever since I had Sacha, it's become progressively more difficult to stop myself from worrying about my family. They say it's the parental instinct, and I guess it is, but more than that. For the majority of my life, Grandpa aside, I haven't been close to anyone, safe and on my own with only my skating to think about. But then I met Otabek, and suddenly I had a reason to care about someone else, someone to care about. First best friends, then boyfriends, then husbands, and finally parents, we've grown up together, him teaching me how to feel 'human emotion' as Victor puts it, in a normal way.

So now, thanks to that, I feel like I'm going to lose my mind with worry. I'm probably being overdramatic, I know that, but going so long without any notice at all is cause enough for me to act like this. Otabek, being the practical person he is, is amazingly consistent with changes in plans and schedules, always letting me know in time. And this ever so conspicuous lack of that just tells me something's wrong. It's very out of character for him to do this, and, though I'm sure it's not his fault, it's making me crazy. 

And this combined with the fact that-

Well, nevermind. I just need to tell him something, and I need to tell him in person, soon.

As if anticipating my actions, the cellphone on the armrest comes to life, startling my outreaching hand with its bright screen, buzzing. Shaking my head at myself, I pick it up, finding a call from a number not in my contacts. Normally, I wouldn't answer, but, I don't know, the knowledge that my husband's not home, whereabouts unknown, sways me. I pick up.

Holding the phone to my ear I listen to the voice over the line,

"Hello?" 

My heart stops.