That afternoon, Soekarno-Hatta Airport felt noisier than usual. The roar of airplane engines, the sound of announcements echoing, hurried footsteps—it all blended together, but to Arief's ears, only one thing could be heard: the soft thumping of his own heart. One large suitcase, one backpack, and a return ticket paid for with the remaining savings from two full seasons of pain in Nailsworth Town.
He glanced briefly at the now useless boarding pass, then put it in his jacket pocket. "Go home first... before I really know where to go next," he thought to himself.
As soon as he stepped out of the arrivals area, the humid Jakarta air immediately enveloped him. Among the crowd of people waiting to pick up passengers, Arief spotted a figure he knew very well: a soft light blue hijab and veil, a smile that had once been his refuge when his world collapsed—Sarah.
"Mas..." Sarah called softly, hesitantly, as if afraid her voice would break something fragile between them.
Arief lifted his face. For a moment, time seemed to stop. Their eyes met: there was distance, there were old wounds, but there was also the acknowledgment that they had once been each other's home.
"Assalamualaikum, Sarah," said Arief, trying to compose himself behind his fatigue.
"Waalaikumsalam, Mas."
Sarah stepped closer, then stopped at a safe distance a few steps away. "Did you have a smooth trip?"
"Smooth. Just... long." Arief smiled slightly. "Very long."
They walked side by side to the parking lot. Inside the car driven by Sarah, the atmosphere was awkward at first. Only the sound of the air conditioner and the hustle and bustle of vehicles outside the window filled the space. Until finally, Sarah spoke up.
"Mas... I heard from Sari that you're no longer with the club?"
Arief sighed. "Yes. The contract is over. I've also decided to quit. There are many things that... can't be forced if the foundation is different."
"It's hard, isn't it?" asked Sarah softly.
"It's hard," replied Arief honestly. "But maybe it has to be that way. Sometimes we have to let go of something we've built with our hearts, so that our hearts can be saved."
Sarah glanced at him, then returned her focus to the road. A small smile appeared on the corner of her lips. "You still say things that make my chest tight."
Arief chuckled softly. "It's a habit. Sorry."
They arrived at Sari's house just before sunset. As soon as the gate opened, a chorus of voices greeted them.
"Abi!"
"Abi is home!"
The children ran to greet Arief—little faces he used to see only through his cell phone screen. Sari appeared in the doorway, her eyes glistening.
"Mas..."
Arief didn't have time to answer. His body was already wrapped in his sister's embrace. Warm. Full of longing, full of feelings that had not been expressed all this time.
"I'm sorry, Sar... I'm just coming home now," Arief said softly.
Sari shook her head. "The important thing is that you're home. It's never too late in life, Mas. As long as you're still breathing, you can always start again."
That night, Sari's small living room turned into a place of confession. The simple meal—warm rice, clear soup, fried tempeh, chili sauce—tasted better than the most expensive restaurant in England. Between bites, the children scrambled to talk about school, their small achievements, trivial things that filled the empty space in Arief's heart.
"Dad, did you coach soccer players in England?" asked one of the children, his eyes sparkling.
"Yes. I coached tall, big guys who could run really fast," replied Arief with a smile.
"Then why did you come home?" asked another innocently.
The question made the dining table instantly silent. Arief looked at their little faces, then stroked their heads one by one.
"Because sometimes, the most important thing is not how big the stadium Dad plays in," he said softly, "but how often Dad can sit here, at the same table with you."
Sari bowed her head, wiping the corners of her eyes. Sarah hid her gaze behind her glasses.
After Isha, when the children had fallen asleep, Sari wisely gave them some space. "Mas, Sarah... I'll make some tea on the terrace. I think you two need to talk."
On the small terrace lit by dim yellow lights, Arief and Sarah sat side by side but still kept their distance. The sound of insects provided the background noise.
"Thank you for picking me up at the airport earlier," said Arief, breaking the silence.
"I'm still your wife," replied Sarah softly, honestly, without dramatization. "Even though... the shape of our family now may be different from what it used to be."
Arief nodded. "I'm the one who made the most mistakes, Sarah."
"Mmm... we both made mistakes," replied Sarah. "We were both exhausted chasing our dreams, until we forgot to take care of our hearts."
For a moment, they were both silent, looking at the dark, polluted Jakarta sky. Then Sarah asked,
"So, what do you want to do now? About work, about where to live, about... family."
Arief stared into the distance, as if he could see two continents in front of his eyes. "That's what I'm thinking about right now. Here, I have you, Sari, and the kids. Across the way, in Staten Island, there's Natalia and the other kids. You're all part of my life. But I also have to be realistic. I can't keep floating between continents without a clear foundation."
"Are you thinking about going back to England?"
"I have thought about it. But not now. In England, the league is very competitive, I would have to start again, maybe from the bottom, maybe not as head coach. That takes time and mental stability, which right now… honestly… I don't have."
"So, are you coming back to Indonesia for good?" Sarah tried to clarify.
Arief shook his head slowly. "I'm coming back to Indonesia now to… catch my breath, not to stop. On the other hand, Natalia and the kids in America also need me. They have their lives there, but they still need a father who isn't just a voice on the phone."
Sarah sighed. "So?"
"So... after a few days here, I'm going to Staten Island," Arief finally replied. Those words were like a huge rock that had finally been lifted from his chest.
Sarah stared straight ahead. "I already suspected as much. Natalia is an undeniable part of your life. The children there are too."
"Sarah..." Arief turned his head. "Are you angry?"
Sarah shook her head, even though her eyes were teary. "In the past, I might have been very angry. But now... I just want us all to find our own peace. If you can be more free to live and take care of the children there, maybe that is the most rational path."
"Rational doesn't necessarily mean easiest on the heart," Arief replied softly.
"That's why Allah gave us hearts, not just brains. So that we learn to balance," replied Sarah, smiling bitterly.
That night, after all the necessary words had finally found their way out, Arief went into the bedroom to sleep with Sari, his head full of sketches of the future. He opened his phone: there were several emails asking if he was available to speak at a coaching clinic, a message from his former assistant in England offering a contact at a small club in Scotland, and a short chat from Natalia.
"Call me when you can. The kids miss you."
Arief stared at the message for a long time. Then he replied briefly:
"I'll come. We need to talk. All of us."
A few days later, new tickets were booked. It was a long route: Jakarta – Doha – New York – Staten Island. This time, it wasn't to pursue a contract with a club, but to sit down with Natalia and the children and talk honestly about their future—about the possibility of finding a club in America, or becoming a coach at a local academy while starting a coaching program that could bridge the gap between Asian and American talent.
At the airport, as he was about to leave again, Sari hugged him tightly. "Mas, whatever you decide there, don't forget one thing."
"What?"
"That you've come this far. Don't let guilt stop you. A new foothold is not just about where you stand, but who you stand for."
Sarah stood a few steps behind, watching them. When Arief approached her, she held out her hand.
"Take care of yourself, Mas."
"Insyaallah," replied Arief, holding her hand a little longer than a normal greeting, then letting go. "Thank you... for staying part of this story, even if it's in a different form."
As the plane took off from Indonesian skies, Arief closed his eyes. In his mind flashed images of the rain-soaked green grass of Nailsworth, the small locker room filled with shouts, the faces of the players he had once shaped, then shifting to Sari's smile, Sarah's steadfast gaze, and the laughter of children on two continents.
"A new beginning," he murmured softly. "This time, not on the field, but between two continents and two homes. And somehow, I must learn to be whole amidst it all."
In the distance, on Staten Island, Natalia closed the window curtains and stared at the wall clock. The arrival time of the international flight was displayed on her phone screen. Her breath trembled, between anxiety and relief.
The meeting awaited at the end of the journey—and a new chapter would truly begin.
***
The plane landed smoothly at John F. Kennedy Airport, New York, on a bone-chilling cold morning. Arief took a deep breath, the familiar scent of American air mixed with the smell of coffee and exhaust fumes welcoming him. Two backpacks and one suitcase—everything he had brought from Jakarta—felt lighter now, though his heart was still heavy. He turned on his phone: a message from Natalia was waiting.
Natalia: "Safe flight? Kids excited. Pick you up soon ❤️"
Arief smiled faintly, typing a reply: "Landed. See you."
Outside the terminal, the sea breeze from Staten Island was chilly. Soon, a familiar black SUV appeared. Natalia got out, wearing a thick wool coat and red scarf, her hair blowing in the wind. Behind her, two small children waved from the back window—Liam (7 years old) and Sofia (5 years old), faces he had only seen through video calls.
"Daddy!" Liam shouted, his voice breaking with excitement.
Arief knelt down, opening his arms wide. The children ran to hug him, Sofia immediately clinging to her father's chest. Natalia approached slowly, her eyes teary but her smile warm.
"Welcome home, Arief," she whispered, hugging all three of them at once.
In the car on the way to Staten Island, the children were boisterous. Liam bombarded him with questions: "Daddy, why did you leave England? Did you win the league? Can we play soccer now?"
Arief laughed, ruffling his son's hair. "Not yet, champ. But Daddy's here to play with you every day now. No more long calls."
Sofia, who was quieter, hugged her teddy bear and asked innocently, "Daddy stay forever?"
Natalia turned from the driver's seat, catching Arief's gaze in the rearview mirror. "We'll talk about that tonight, Sofi. Daddy's home for good... maybe."
Their house in Staten Island was a simple but comfortable two-story townhouse, with a small backyard that Natalia had turned into a mini soccer field. As soon as they entered, the aroma of Italian food—spaghetti carbonara and garlic bread—greeted them. The children immediately ran to the playroom, leaving Arief and Natalia alone in the kitchen.
Natalia poured hot coffee for them both. "You look tired. How was Indonesia? Sari and Sarah... okay?"
Arief nodded, sipping his coffee. "It was... healing. Sari is healthy, the kids are all grown up. Sarah picked me up at the airport, we talked for a long time. They understand. But it's hard, Natal. It feels like a piece of my heart is left behind with them."
Natalia sat across from him, holding his hand. "I know. I talked to Sarah last week. She's strong, like you. But the kids here... they need you full-time. Liam asks about you every night. 'When is Daddy coming to play soccer?'"
Arief stared at his cup, his voice trembling. "I'm tired, Natal. Two seasons in Nailsworth... I built the team from scratch, but management rejected all my ideas. Now I'm jobless, and my savings are half gone from this ticket. How am I going to support you guys? What about the future?"
Natalia shook her head firmly. "Hey, we're in this together. I work part-time at the school, our savings are enough for 6 months. You don't have to be head coach right away. Start small—coaching academy here in Staten Island, or youth leagues. New York has tons of soccer clubs. The Indonesian community is also large, you can create a bilingual program."
Arief sighed deeply. "Staten Island Soccer Club offered me an assistant coach position last week via email. The salary is decent, and it's close to home. But... do I have to stay here forever? The competitive leagues here are different, more focused on development than the pressure to win."
Natalia smiled, touching his cheek. "Why not? You've built academies before. Here, you can build one for immigrant kids—Indonesian, Asian talents. Imagine: an 'Asia to MLS' program or something. Your experience from England is perfect."
That afternoon, after the children had taken their naps, they sat on the back porch. The setting sun reflected off the green grass of the mini field. Liam and Sofia woke up and immediately pulled Arief to play ball.
"Daddy, pass!" Liam shouted, kicking the plastic ball.
Arief kicked it back gently, and Sofia ran along laughing. Natalia watched them from her chair, her eyes wet with happiness.
That night, after the children had gone to bed, Arief and Natalia sat on the sofa with a glass of red wine. Arief's cell phone rang—an email from his agent in Indonesia: an offer to coach in League 2, with a stable salary but far from his big dream.
Natalia glanced at him. "What is it?"
"An opportunity in Indonesia. But... no. I want to try here first. Tomorrow is the interview with Staten Island SC. If it works out, we'll stay. If not, we'll think again. But family comes first now."
Natalia hugged him tightly. "That's my Arief. A new turning point—not in a big stadium, but in this backyard."
Arief nodded, looking at the family photo on the wall: himself, Natalia, Liam, Sofia—complete. In his mind, images of Sari, Sarah, and the children in Jakarta appeared, but now they felt more peaceful. "God willing, this is the right path."
The next morning, Arief woke up early, put on his tracksuit, and got ready for the interview. Liam followed him to the garage, holding a ball. "Daddy win today?"
Arief lifted his son high. "We win together, son."
In the distance, Staten Island felt like the new foothold he had been searching for—not the green grass of Wembley, but the backyard grass filled with children's laughter.
***
The morning on Staten Island felt fresh, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt from the Verrazzano Bridge connecting the island to Manhattan. Arief stood on the small field behind the house, his navy blue tracksuit damp with morning sweat. He had just finished a light training session with Liam, kicking a plastic ball while teaching the basics of accurate passing. However, his mind was not entirely there—an inner conflict began to gnaw at him, like the shadow of Nailsworth that had not yet completely faded.
Natalia appeared from the back door, carrying two mugs of hot coffee. "Breakfast is ready. Liam, wash up!" she exclaimed, smiling at Arief. But her gaze caught the frown on her husband's forehead. "Are you okay? The interview at Staten Island SC this afternoon, right?"
Arief nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Yes. But... last night I thought about it again. Am I really ready to start from the bottom again? In England I was the head coach, here I'm the youth team assistant. It feels like a step backwards, Natal."
Natalia sat down on a wooden bench and handed him his coffee. "It's not backing down, it's rebuilding. You built Nailsworth from nothing. Here, same thing—start with kids like Liam."
Arief stared at the small field. "But there's conflict here too. I'm not sure I can separate my ego as a coach from my ego as a father. If the U-12 team loses because of my decision, how will Liam see me? Or conversely, if I favor him, how will the other parents view me?"
Natalia held his hand. "That's the internal war every coach faces. Talk to me. What's really eating you?"
Arief sighed deeply. "Besides that... there's something else. Yesterday in Jakarta, Sarah... we had a long talk. She said she's still waiting for me to come back someday. She's not forcing me, but... it makes me uneasy."
Natalia tensed for a moment, but her smile remained warm—something unexpected began to creep in, affecting everything. "Sarah? I knew from her messages. She's part of your past, Arief. But we're your present. Does it change your decision here?"
"Not immediately," Arief replied honestly. "But it makes me think: am I being selfish leaving her and Sari for a career here? Or conversely, going back to Indonesia means leaving you and the kids? It feels like choosing between two continents, even though you are all still in my heart."
Natalia stood up, standing in front of him. "Listen. Sarah is a strong woman—she let you go before. But if there are unfinished feelings... face it. Don't let it poison what we're building here."
That afternoon, the interview at the Staten Island Soccer Club went smoothly. Arief met with the technical director, Mike—a former MLS assistant coach—and several senior coaches. The meeting room was simple, filled with posters of local players who had made it to the pro level.
"You're Arief from Nailsworth? Impressive resume—mid-table stability in the League," said Mike, his eyes sparkling. "But why us? Youth development?"
Arief smiled confidently. "The League in England taught me pressure. Here, I want to build foundations. The Indonesian diaspora in NY is huge—imagine an academy bridging Asian talents to the US system. Like what I did in England."
Mike nodded. "We need that. But conflict alert: our head coach, Tony, is old school. He's clashed with assistants before—wants total control. You okay with that?"
Internal conflict immediately arose. Arief remembered Percy at Nailsworth—a stubborn veteran player. "I've handled egos. Communication is key. But if it's toxic... I walk."
Mike laughed. "Fair. Offer on the table: assistant U-14/U-16, $65k/year + bonuses. Start next week."
When he arrived home, Arief told Natalia everything. But his inner conflict peaked that night. While Sofia was sleeping, he sat at his desk, his cell phone ringing—it was Sarah from Jakarta.
"Mas? Have you arrived?" asked Sarah, her voice soft but tinged with longing.
"Yes, Sarah. The kids are all healthy. Natalia is fine too," replied Arief, his voice low so as not to wake anyone in the house.
"I'm glad to hear that. But... Mas, I'm still thinking about our conversation last night on the terrace? Our words... they still echo in my mind."
Arief fell silent, his heart pounding. Something exploded slowly—feelings that had been buried were now resurfacing. "Sarah... that's in the past. I'm here now, building new dreams."
"But the heart can't lie, Mas. If you're happy there, I'll step back. But if you have doubts... the door here is always open. Not for drama, but for us as we were before."
The call triggered an internal storm. Arief turned off his phone, stood at the window, and stared at the night sky over Staten Island. The conflict: career vs. family, Natalia vs. Sarah, ambitious coach vs. patient father. "Should I turn down this job? Go back to Indonesia, start in the local league, be close to Sarah and Sari? Or stay, fight the conflict with Tony like before?"
Natalia entered quietly, hugging him from behind. "Sarah?"
Arief nodded. "She said the door is still open. And I... I'm confused, Natal. It's a good job, but the conflict with head coach Tony is similar to what happened in Nailsworth. Plus this... it complicates everything."
Natalia turned around, looking him in the eyes. "Then decide. If Sarah pulls you back, go. But Liam and Sofia? They see you as a hero now. Don't break that for 'what ifs'. Fight the internal demons first—ego coach, love, future stability."
Arief hugged her tightly. "I'll refuse if I'm toxic. Stay if it's growth. Tomorrow I'll answer Mike's offer. And Sarah... I have to close that chapter clearly."
The next morning, Arief sent an email to Mike: "Accept offer. Ready to build." Then he called Sarah: "Sarah, thank you for everything. But I choose to stay here. Let's close this door nicely, okay? Take care."
Sarah was silent for a long time. "Thank God, you've found your footing. Congratulations."
The conflict slowly subsided. Something became a catalyst—not a destroyer, but a reminder. Arief returned to the mini field, kicking the ball with Liam. "Daddy win today?" the boy asked.
"Every day, champ. With family," Arief replied, peacefully.
***
The morning on Staten Island felt heavier than usual. Arief stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his tracksuit neatly laid out for his first day as assistant coach at the Staten Island Soccer Club. But his eyes were empty, his mind racing. The call from Sarah two days ago still echoed in his mind: "The door is still open, Mas." And now, a sudden email from an agent in Indonesia arrived this morning—an offer to be head coach at a Liga 1 club in Indonesia, with double the salary he earned in Staten Island, complete with housing benefits. It came like a bolt from the blue: not just any offer, but accompanied by a personal message from Sarah, who was coordinating the club's search for a coach. "This is our chance to start over, Mas. Indonesia is ready to welcome you home."
Arief's internal conflict erupted. He stared at the family photo on the side table: Natalia and the children on one side, Sari and Sarah on the other side of his wallet. "I can't choose anymore," he muttered. "They're all my wives. My children. There must be a way to bring them all together."
Natalia entered, carrying breakfast. "Ready? Mike said U-14 training is at 9. Liam wants to come, he says he wants to see Daddy work."
Arief turned around and looked at his wife seriously. "Natal, sit down first. We need to talk about something."
Natalia frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. "What? Is it bad?"
Arief took his phone and showed her the email. "An offer to be the head coach of the Indonesian League 1. The salary is great. But... Sarah contacted the agent. She said this is a way for us to 'start over'."
Natalia read the email, her face turning pale for a moment. "Sarah? She's pulling you back? After all this?"
"She's not pulling me back, Natal. I'm thinking of another option. I don't want to be apart again. I want to bring you all together. Sarah, Sari, you—in one area. Different houses, but close by. Jakarta has a large expat community, you can work at an international school. Sari can move, find good schools for the kids. We'll divide our time: I'll coach in the mornings and afternoons, and take turns spending evenings with the family."
Natalia stood up, pacing back and forth. "Arief, this is crazy! I've been in America for a long time, the kids are grown up here. Sarah is in Jakarta, Sari too. How? Visas? Culture shock? You're asking for a polyamorous life across continents?"
Arief held her shoulders. "Listen first. I've thought this through carefully. We can buy a cluster of houses in the expat area of South Jakarta—for example, in Kemang or Pondok Indah. Sarah and Sari will have their own houses, 5 minutes apart. You'll have the main house, and your Russian citizenship will be safe. The kids will go to an international bilingual school. I'll support everything with my coaching salary. Big family gatherings on the weekends. No more long distance."
Natalia stared at him for a long time, a mixture of shock and curiosity. "You're serious? Sarah agrees? Sari? What about jealousy, drama?"
Arief picked up the phone and video called Sarah directly. The screen lit up, and Sarah appeared in her living room, smiling hesitantly. "Mas? Good morning there?"
"Sarah, Natal saw the email. I told her about the plan to bring us all together. What do you think?"
Sarah was silent, then smiled broadly. "Mas... I've been thinking about the same thing since you came home yesterday. I told Sari. She said, 'If Mas can be fair, why not?' We're tired of being apart. Jakarta is safe now, there are many expats. I work at a language school, Sari can help with a small business. As long as Mas promises: transparency, fair time."
Natalia took over the camera. "Sarah... this is crazy. But if Arief means it, maybe... we'll try. The kids need their father close by. But there are rules: no secrets, weekly family meetings, counseling if needed."
Sarah nodded enthusiastically. "Deal, Natal. We are strong women. For the sake of the children, it's worth it."
Arief called Sari next. "Sar, did you hear my plan?"
Sari was in the kitchen, the children were playing outside. "Honey, I support you. I'm tired of crying alone. If we can find a neighborhood where the children can play with their Russian-American cousins, I'm ready to move closer to your club."
That changed everything. Arief politely declined Staten Island via email: "Thank you, but family calls back home." That night, a full virtual meeting: Arief, Natalia, Sarah, Sari—four adults, eight children on small screens.
"First rule: separate houses, but one cluster. I bought four townhouse units in Kemang Village—safe, international school within walking distance," said Arief.
Natalia: "I'll teach yoga for the whole family. To keep things harmonious."
Sarah: "I'll cook Indo fusion. Natal, teach us pasta, okay?"
Sari: "The kids will learn mixed languages. Family soccer tournament on weekends!"
Laughter erupted on the screen. Arief's internal conflict vanished—it wasn't about choosing one, but uniting them all. Two weeks later, Arief flew back to Jakarta first to handle his contract with the Liga 1 club. Natalia took care of the visa and sold the house in Staten Island. Sarah and Sari looked for a cluster house.
On the plane, Arief wrote in his journal: "The turning point is not choosing one heart, but bridging everything. A new foundation: one neighborhood, four houses, one big family."
When Natalia first arrived in Jakarta, Sarah picked her up at the airport in a large van. "Welcome to our crazy family, Natal."
Natalia hugged her. "To our new home."
The children ran around the new cluster yard, a ball rolling between the houses. Arief coached from the terrace, smiling contentedly. This was not the end, but the beginning of an unexpected harmony.
***
Everything is neatly arranged in the Kemang Village cluster, South Jakarta. Four townhouses stand side by side—Arief and Natalia's house at number 1 with a mini field in the back, Sarah's at number 2 complete with a language studio, Sari's at number 3 with a herb garden for children, and number 4 reserved for large family gatherings. The Liga 1 season is just two weeks away; Arief has signed a contract as the backup head coach for Persija Jakarta, earning 150 million rupiah per month plus bonuses. The children from the three houses play together every afternoon, Natalia teaches weekly yoga classes, Sarah cooks Indo-American fusion cuisine, and Sari takes care of family logistics. It's perfect harmony—until something happens that morning.
Arief was in his office, laptop open to analyze opponents. His phone rang: a Russian number, +7. "Arief Rahman? This is Dmitri Ivanov, sporting director of FC Krasnodar. We saw your Nailsworth Town record—mid-table stability, youth development. Interested in coaching our U-23 team? Salary 200k euros/year, path to the first team. Natalia's Russian roots are a bonus."
Arief froze. Russia—Natalia's home country! The salary was substantial, the RPL was a competitive league, and it was close to Natalia's family roots (her grandfather was from St. Petersburg). But... Hadn't things just stabilized in Jakarta? He immediately called Natalia at the house next door.
"Natal! Family meeting now! Everyone to my house!" Arief shouted as he ran to the terrace.
Within 15 minutes, the living room was full: Natalia brought Liam and Sofia, Sarah with her two teenage children, Sari took care of the little ones. The round table was set, tea and coffee were ready. The children were told to play in the back.
"Is this an emergency, Mas?" asked Sarah, raising her eyebrows.
Arief took a deep breath and showed them the offer email from FC Krasnodar, complete with a draft contract. "An offer to be head coach of the U-23 team in Russia. The salary is 200k euros a year, and Natalia has roots there. But... we just settled here."
Natalia's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and nostalgia. "Krasnodar? My grandfather is from a nearby region! The RPL league is tough—Zenit, Spartak are high level. But the kids? School? Cold weather?"
Sarah shook her head. "Honey, we just bought this house! The kids are about to start international school, the expat community is comfortable. Russia? UEFA sanctions, difficult visas, minus 20 degrees, the shadow of war. I'm afraid this isn't good for the kids."
Sari raised her hand wisely. "Wait. Pros: big salary, Arief's career will rise to the European level again. Russia is safe in the south like Krasnodar, not far from Moscow. Natal can reconnect family roots, teach the kids Russian. Cons: we're leaving Jakarta which is already stable, total culture shock."
Liam, who was eavesdropping from the door, ran in. "Daddy Russia? Snow? Soccer with bears?" Everyone burst out laughing, the tension easing.
Natalia took out a pro-con chart. "Official family meeting. Pros of Russia: double salary, Natalia homecoming—my grandfather has a villa on the Black Sea, could be an inheritance. Arief's career boost, maybe RPL first team. The kids will be unique Russian-Indonesian-American bilinguals."
Sarah added: "Plus, Russia has a strong soccer culture and top academies. But cons: Schengen visas are difficult after the sanctions, international schools are expensive, and the winter is brutal. I'm a tropical person, I can't handle it!"
Sari: "Logistics: I can sell my small business here, Sarah can switch to online teaching. But this cluster house? Sell at a loss? The kids will be traumatized by moving again?"
Arief facilitated: "This wasn't my choice. Russia offers a path to Central Europe, close to Indonesia with a flight time of around 10 hours. We can buy an apartment cluster in Krasnodar—similar to here, with separate houses in one area. Natalia is leading the way, because of her roots."
Natalia stared at her phone screen—a photo of her Russian grandfather. "Guys... this is a big deal. Krasnodar is modern, with a growing expat community post-sanctions. Kids can learn skating, ballet. But Jakarta is now home—friends, schools settled."
The conversation heated up. Sarah: "Mas, remember Nailsworth? Management conflict. Russia is a club of oligarchs, insane pressure!"
Natalia replies: "Just that—pressure makes diamonds. Arief proved himself in Europe again."
Sari mediates: "Vote? Natalia first—your roots are there."
Natalia is silent for a long time. "Part of me yes—grandpa's stories, culture. But the kids are happy here. 60% no."
Sarah: "No. 100%. I'm tired of being nomadic."
Sari: "50-50. Stability vs. opportunity."
Arief closes and concludes: "I refuse if you guys don't agree. Family first. But Russia could be a bridge: summer in Jakarta, winter in Krasnodar? Split the year?"
Second thing: Natalia took her phone and called Dmitri directly (number in the email). "Dmitri? Natalia, Arief's wife. Russian descent. Offer family-friendly? Expat housing cluster? Bilingual school?"
Dmitri excited: "Da! We have expat village near stadium—four villas available. International school top, family visa fast. Natalia, welcome home!"
Natalia looks at everyone: "They have a cluster like ours! Four houses ready."
Sarah shakes her head: "This is crazy. But... if everyone agrees, I'm in. For Arief's sake."
Sari: "Me too. The kids are adaptable."
Natalia hugs Arief: "Let's go to Russia. Our roots are calling."
The meeting ends: 4-0 yes! Arief replies to the email: "Accept. Family coming." Two weeks later, the moving containers arrive in Krasnodar. The new cluster: four villas in the expat village, a private soccer field. The RPL season begins, Arief is on the sidelines of the U-23 field, the family watches from the VIP box.
Arief whispered to Natalia: "Another turning point?"
Natalia kissed Arief's lips: "Always with you."
The children played snow soccer behind the villa. Transcontinental harmony—Jakarta in summer, Russia in winter. And finally, Russia became the ultimate foothold.