Chum

With trembling fingers, I accept the call. The screen flickers to life, and suddenly, there they are. Olena and Yulia, my wife and daughter, their faces beaming at me from behind the protective barriers of their own screens.

"Papa!" Yulia cries, her voice a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "Can you see us? Can you hear us?"

"Yes, my darling," I manage to choke out, my voice thick with emotion. "I can see you. You've grown so much."

And she has. The little girl I left behind is gone, replaced by a young woman on the cusp of adulthood. Her hair is longer, her face more defined. But her eyes - her eyes are the same, bright and curious and full of life.

Olena smiles, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Hello, my love," she says softly. "It's good to see you."

We talk for hours, the conversation flowing more easily than I could have ever hoped. They tell me about their lives in Kyiv, about Yulia's school and Olena's work. I listen, hungry for every detail, every scrap of normalcy.

"Are you… are you angry with me?" I finally ask, the question that's been gnawing at me for years finally forcing its way out.

Olena shakes her head firmly. "No, Illya. We were never angry. Sad, yes. Confused, certainly. But we understood why you had to leave."

"We knew where you were the whole time," Yulia adds, a hint of pride in her voice. "Mama made sure we kept track of you."

I blink, surprised. "You did?"

Olena nods. "Of course. You're still our family, Illya. No matter what."

The conversation turns to their upcoming visit - a real, physical visit, not just a video call. The U.S. government, in what I can only assume is some bizarre attempt at atonement, has arranged for them to come to Aurora Springs.

"We'll be there in two weeks," Olena tells me, her excitement palpable even through the screen. "They're arranging everything - the flights, the special suits, all of it."

"I can't wait to see you in person, Papa," Yulia says, her smile wide and genuine. "Even if it is through a bunch of lead glass."

We laugh together, and for a moment, it's almost like old times. Almost like we're a normal family again, separated by nothing more than distance and circumstance.

As the call winds down, I feel a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with radiation. Hope, I realize. For the first time in years, I feel hope.

"We love you, Illya," Olena says as we prepare to sign off. "Never forget that."

"I love you too," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "Both of you. So much."

The screen goes dark, but the warmth remains. I lie back on my cot, staring up at the ceiling, my mind whirling with thoughts and emotions.

It's not a perfect life, this existence I've carved out here at Aurora Springs. It's constrained, controlled, forever overshadowed by the specter of my past crimes and the ever-present danger of my condition. And it will likely be this way for the rest of my existence on this Earth.

But it's a life. A chance to work, to create, to connect with my family. A opportunity to make amends, in whatever small way I can.

As I drift off to sleep, I find myself looking forward to tomorrow for the first time in years. There's work to be done, problems to solve, a family to reconnect with.

It's not freedom, not in the conventional sense. But perhaps, I think as sleep claims me, it's something even more precious: purpose.

The next two weeks pass in a blur of anticipation and preparation. My days are filled with work, exercise, and an endless series of briefings and safety checks in preparation for Olena and Yulia's visit.

"Now remember, Mr. Fedorov," Dr. Chen reminds me for what feels like the hundredth time, "even with the protective suits and the lead-lined visitation room, we need to keep the exposure time to a minimum. One hour, maximum."

I nod, trying to quell the mixture of excitement and anxiety roiling in my gut. "I understand, Doctor. I won't do anything to put them at risk."

She softens slightly, offering me a small smile. "I know you won't. I just want this to go smoothly for all of you. You deserve this time together."

The day of their arrival dawns bright and clear, the autumn sun painting the mountains in shades of gold and russet. I'm up before dawn, pacing my saferoom, too keyed up to eat or work.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the intercom crackles to life. "Mr. Fedorov? Your family has arrived. We're beginning the suiting-up process now. Please make your way to the visitation room."

My heart pounding, I don my own suit and make my way through the series of airlocks and decontamination chambers that separate my living space from the visitation area. Each step feels both too fast and too slow, time stretching and compressing in strange ways.

And then, suddenly, I'm there. Standing in a room divided by a thick wall of leaded glass, staring at two figures in bulky hazmat suits on the other side.

For a moment, we all just stand there, frozen. Then Yulia's voice comes through the intercom, slightly distorted but unmistakably hers. "Papa? Is that really you?"

"Yes, my darling," I manage to choke out. "It's me."

And then we're all talking at once, laughing and crying, pressing our hands against opposite sides of the glass. It's surreal and beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

"You look good," Olena says, her eyes crinkling with a smile behind her faceplate. "Healthy."

I laugh, a bit self-consciously. "The food here is better than what I've been living on. And they let me exercise."

"You're not as scary as I thought you'd be," Yulia blurts out, then looks embarrassed. "I mean… with all the stories and everything…"

"Yulia!" Olena admonishes, but I wave it off.

"It's alright," I assure them. "I know what the news has been saying about me. But I'm still just me. Still your papa."

We talk for what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. About their lives in Kyiv, about my work here at Aurora Springs, about everything and nothing. It's awkward at times, the weight of our separation and the bizarre circumstances of our reunion making themselves felt. But it's also wonderful, a balm to a wound I didn't fully realize I had.

All too soon, Dr. Chen's voice comes over the intercom, gentle but firm. "I'm sorry, but we need to wrap this up. We're approaching the safe exposure limit."

I nod, fighting back the surge of disappointment. "Just a moment more, please?"

She hesitates, then sighs. "Two minutes. No more."

I turn back to Olena and Yulia, trying to memorize every detail of their faces, even distorted as they are by the suits and the glass. "I love you both so much," I tell them, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for coming. For not giving up on me."

"We'll never give up on you, Papa," Yulia says fiercely. "Never."

Olena nods, reaching out to place her gloved hand against the glass. I mirror the gesture, imagining I can feel the warmth of her touch even through all the layers separating us. "We'll be back," she promises. "As often as they'll let us."

And then it's over. They're being ushered out, waving goodbye as they disappear down the corridor. I stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where they were, feeling both full and hollow at the same time.

As I make my way back to my quarters, shedding my suit and submitting to yet another round of decontamination, I find myself smiling. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't normal. But it was something. A connection, a reminder of why I'm here, why I'm trying so hard to make amends.

That night, as I lie in my bed, I find myself thinking not of the past, not of my crimes or my regrets, but of the future. Of the work still to be done, the problems still to solve. Of the next visit from my family, whenever that might be.

Perhaps the old tales are true, I muse as I dive into a particularly thorny set of calculations. Perhaps lead can be turned to gold, ashes to beauty. Iron to steel, and monsters to men.