Good morning, my love.
He awoke, as always, a minute before his alarma habit forged in the army. Rolling off the bed onto the floor without opening his eyes, he dropped to the floor for a few pushups. Blood rushed pleasantly to his head, shaking off the last traces of sleep.
Ill go wake the boys, Lena.
The boys were his tenyearold twin sons, sleeping in the next roomtwo miniature copies of their father, mouths slightly ajar as if sharing a single dream.
The houses heating had been sputtering all night, so he didnt risk a morning jog and let them sleep a little longer. He admired their nowstronger bodies.
At their age, he was their opposite: thin, clumsy, hunched, shytraits his peers mistook for cowardice. School came easily; the teasing of classmates hurt. He couldnt fight back; he knew he was weaker. In PE he gave his all, yet the coachs mockery killed his spirit. As for sports clubs, his mother was adamant:
I didnt give birth to an educated Jewish boy just to see him learn how to break noses.
Shyness held him back there too, so his dream of strength fell short once more. His mother rarely showed a harsh side, surrounding him with care, tenderness, and affection. Overwhelmed, he left for the army right after school. Two years later he returned, trained and promising as an athlete. The timid, delicate Jewish boy had become a solid boxing candidate for master of sporta path his mother and the physicalculture institute welcomed.
College opened a new chapter: frequent competitions, dorm life, new friends, and a fresh problemgirls. Though he excelled in boxing, his innate shyness never vanished. Courting, asking a girl out, even speaking to a woman at twenty was no easier than at tenuntil she appeared.
Elena was the institutes rising star: a champion in platform diving, a slender, lighthaired beauty with green eyes. Smart, smiling, yet oddly silent, earning her the nickname Alien. They became friends instantly.
They spent hours together without a word, cheered each other at meets, and after their first kiss he proposed.
The whole class celebrated a Martian wedding, loving them for their openness and lack of malice.
A year later Lena announced her academypregnancy. He began night shifts at Kursk Station, working as a loader. Strangely, those evenings were the first time he truly felt strongnot because of the heavy sacks, but because he realized he could provide, protect, and raise a family. He was strong, and she was his.
Lena fretted, but the doctor reassured her, joking:
I can only disappoint you with one fact: if you dont like children, youll have twins, double the trouble.
At night they dreamed together of their future children, of the house theyd buy by the sea, of who theyd become. Night was meant for dreaming.
On the eve of the birth, she took his hand, looked into his eyes, and asked:
Promise me youll never leave them, no matter what!
He was stunned, tempted to sulk, but shes eyes made him simply nod. The next day labor began. The delivery was long and brutal; she lost consciousness for nearly a day, doctors couldnt pinpoint the source of her bleeding. By the time they did, it was too late.
He remembers nothing of that nighteverything seemed a blur. He awoke at dawn on the Kursk platform, lying in a puddle amid empty bottles. A nightshift loader shook his shoulder and cursed, Hey, boxer, get up, shifts starting. He stumbled up like after a twelfthround knockout and went to unload cars. His hands knew the work; his head did not. The only looping thought in his mind was a broken record: Promise you wont leave Promise you wont leave
He didnt cry then. Tears came later, at night, when he first entered the empty apartment and saw two tiny onesies Lena had cradled the night before, humming softly. He sat on the nursery floor and wept like a wounded animal until Aunt Raya knocked on the wall:
Son, I get it, but the kids are sleeping
The children indeed slepttwo warm bundles in a cribplaypen theyd chosen together at Kids World, debating blue versus green. They took both, one for each. Now the bundles breathed softly, unaware their mother was gone.
He cant recall the first month. He remembers sleepless nights, fearing that if he fell asleep hed miss a cry. He fed on the hour, changed diapers, sterilized bottles, and ate only once a day when memory returned. Lenas mother visited daily, bringing food, hugging silently, then leaving because he could not speak. He only nodded when she asked, Should I take the boys to stay with me for a while? He promised. He would not abandon them.
When the twins turned three months, he returned to the ring after the funeral. The coach urged patience, but he stepped in and lost the first roundnot because hed forgotten how to punch, but because, for the first time, he didnt want to fight. The opponent landed blows while he stared at the spot beyond the ropes where Lena usually stood with a flag, shouting in a thin voice, Come on, my Martian!
After the bout, the coach pulled him into the locker room and said plainly:
Either you get your head straight, or quit boxing. Youre dangerous nownot to opponents, but to yourself.
He quit. That evening he returned his gloves to the locker and never wore them again.
Instead, he began running each morning. At first three kilometers, coughing and cursing everything, then five, then ten, until his legs felt like cotton and his mind emptied to the rhythm of his heartbeat and breath. Hed come home soaked, collapse in the hallway, stare at the ceiling until one of the boys started to wail. Then hed rise, scoop the child into his arms, hold him close, and simply breathe.
A year passed.
When the boys turned two, he took them to a pool for the first time. Hed feared water since childhoodLena laughed, saying Martians probably cant swim. She promised to teach them all, but never got the chance. So he hired the best coach he could find and sat on the edge each lesson, clutching her old swimsuit in his pocket, never discarding it.
The boys splashed like ducklings, laughing in unison. He watched, thinking, If only you could see this
At five, he enrolled them in boxingnot to groom champions, but because he understood that strength isnt just muscles; its the ability to protect and to endure when the world pushes back.
By then he worked as a kids boxing coach. Pay was modest, but the schedule allowed him to attend kindergarten, his sons training, and parent meetings. Evenings he cooked, checked homework, read Harry Potter aloud in different voices. The boys knew Mom went to the sky, yet they didnt ask for details. He waited for the questions, preparing his answers.
Sometimes, as they drifted to sleep, hed sit at the kitchen table with tea, pull out an old albumwedding photos, first competitions, an ultrasound showing two dots that became his sons. Hed gaze at Lenas smile and whisper:
See, Lena? I didnt leave. I kept my word.
Then hed slip into their room, straighten the blankets, kiss each forehead gently so as not to wake them, and whisper:
Sleep, boys. Dads here.
Only then could he lie down, finally able to rest, knowing hed hear any cry.
Ten years went by.
One morning, as always, he woke a minute before the alarm, did his customary twenty pushups, feeling the familiar rush of blood.
Ill go wake the boys, Lena, he said to the empty air, as he had for eleven years.
He stretched, rose, and entered the next room.
Two tenyearold boys lay stretched like stars, identical faces, mouths halfopen. No longer tiny bundles, they were now true athletesbroad shoulders, strong arms. One was a boxing mastercandidate, the other a regional junior swimming champion. Both top students, both with her green eyes.
He lingered, feeling a warm, light presence in his chestno pain, just pure presence.
Thank you, he whispered softly. Thank you for giving me them and staying with me.
He leaned forward, kissed each son.
Get up, champions. Breakfast wont eat itself.
They rolled, smiling through sleep.
Dad, can we go to the movies after training? The new SpiderMan is out!
Sure, but first a run. Five kilometers, together.
Uuu
No uu. Martians dont whine.
They laughed, the same bright sound.
He stepped into the kitchen, set the kettle, and looked out the window. The morning was clear, frosty, the sun just cresting over the rooftops.
In that instant he realized he hadnt merely survived; he was truly living.
Because he kept his promise.
And because she still livedin their laughter, in their eyes, in their strength, in his own.
He smiled at his reflection in the window, whispered so the boys wouldnt hear:
Good morning, my love.
Then he began frying pancakes the way she taught himapplecinnamon, because the kids loved them, and because it was right.
Everything else hed already done. All that remained was to keep livingfor himself, for her, for the three of them.
And he lives. Every day. Every morning. With every breath.
Because he promised.
