Angelina spent the entire day bustling around the kitchen, single-handedly pulling together a festive holiday feast. She draped the table in a crisp, snow-white tablecloth. By evening, it was beautifully set with traditional Olivier potato salad, a savory layered herring salad, roasted potatoes, and baked fish, alongside elegant caviar canapés and fresh vegetables that actually tasted like fresh produce—Maksim had somehow tracked them down. A decadent cake waited in the refrigerator. In his crib, Peter was happily cooing and chewing on the corner of a soft baby book. Angelina checked in on him every few minutes. “How’re you doing in there, little guy?” Peter tilted his head up toward her and grinned, flashing his very first milk-white teeth. “Do you like it here?” “Ma... ma... mama...” Peter enunciated with careful, deliberate effort. “Did you just say Mama? I’m not your mama...” Angelina suddenly felt her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat. Oh God, I am his mama. She scooped him up, pressing him tightly to her chest and rocking him back and forth. “My son,” Angelina whispered, testing the weight of the word on her tongue. A week ago, it would have felt entirely impossible. Now, it felt like the only truth that mattered. Maksim arrived right after his shift ended, carrying a bag of fresh clementines and a bottle of expensive champagne. “Well? Is it time to start the party?” “Oh, you shouldn't have! Thank you, Maksim. Come on in, the table is already set.” “How’s life treating you, Pete?” the officer asked, leaning over. Peter snuggled closer into Angelina’s neck, looked over at Maksim, and shyly muttered, “Mama.” Maksim froze, staring at the infant. “Did you just say your very first word? Did you?” he asked, his voice laced with sudden wonder and a profound, gentle awe. Peter drifted off to sleep long before the midnight countdown. Angelina sat on the sofa, curled up tightly against Maksim’s side. “The president’s New Year's address is about to start,” she said thoughtfully, looking toward the screen. A festive holiday concert was playing on the television, with pop stars singing classic winter melodies. “Hey, does your family have that tradition where you write down a wish, burn it over your glass, and drink the ashes with your champagne when the clock strikes midnight?” Maksim asked. “No,” Angelina laughed, looking up at him in surprise. “What kind of ritual is that?” “Well, different countries have their own ways of doing things. But since we're a country built on so many blended traditions...” “Hold on, slow down. Explain this wish ritual to me first.” Maksim chuckled and began to explain the mechanics: “It’s nothing complicated. You just write your biggest wish on a tiny piece of paper, light it on fire, drop the ashes into your champagne glass, and drink it down exactly as the clock strikes midnight. They say it makes the wish come true.” Angelina smiled up at him. “And do you actually believe that?” “I never used to. But tonight... I think I want to try.” Angelina reached for her university lecture notebook, finding a single blank sheet left at the very back. Without a second thought, she tore it out. “What color pen do you want? I have colored markers and pencils too.” “Can I get a blue pencil?” “Then I’ll take the red one.” “Look at us, matching like yin and yang,” Maksim teased. Angelina laughed and headed to the kitchen table. They sat down to write their wishes. The police officer scribbled something onto his scrap of paper, shielding it with his hand so she couldn't peek—insisting it wouldn't come true if she saw. Angelina carefully wrote: I want us to be together. All three of us. “Do you have a lighter?” he asked. “I have matches. I bought them for the sparklers.” Maksim helped her burn the paper, dropping the gray embers into their glasses, and poured the champagne just as the midnight chimes began to echo through the television speaker. Outside the window, the first thunderous booms of fireworks rattled the glass. Angelina set her glass down and hurried to the window. Maksim stepped up right behind her, resting a warm, heavy hand on her shoulder. Through the frosted windowpane, brilliant flashes of fireworks painted the night sky in vibrant bursts of emerald, crimson, and gold. The falling snowflakes seemed to catch the light, shimmering in a dozen different colors. Maksim gently took her hand, turning her toward him. “Angelina...” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “I’m a cop, I don't know how to make fancy speeches,” he began, his voice dropping to a quiet, steady murmur. “But over this past week, I’ve realized something. I don't want you to be alone tomorrow. Or the day after that. I want us to be together. You, me, and Peter.” She couldn't speak; a tight knot of emotion had formed in her throat. Maksim slowly dropped to one knee, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. Inside, a ring caught the glow of the fairy lights. “I love you,” he said simply, entirely without pretense. “Marry me, Angelina.” Angelina nodded rapidly, tears spilling over her eyelashes and tracing down her cheeks. Maksim slid the ring onto her finger, then stood up and gently brushed the tears from her face with his thumbs. Angelina pulled him down to her, and they kissed. They stood by the window for a long time after that, locked in a quiet, tight embrace. “And you said you didn't know how to make beautiful speeches,” she murmured softly against his shoulder. Maksim smiled into her hair. “I didn't. I just told you the truth. You asked me earlier if midnight wishes actually come true? Well, mine just did.” Later that night, Angelina tiptoed into the baby's room to check on him. “Happy New Year, Peter,” she whispered softly, pausing for a fraction of a second before adding: “...my son.” She sat down on the chair beside the crib, resting her hand gently against the smooth wooden railing. She looked at the colorful garland flickering against the windowpane, casting long, warm shadows across the room. “Thank you for being here,” she whispered into the quiet night. “Thank you for knocking on my door.”