SUMMER’S POINT OF VIEW.
I tried to maintain eye contact with my husband while he spooned some of the chicken soup into my mouth. Recovery has been a steep process, but with Kirill acting like a rock over me, I could barely skip my medication, meals, or routine check-ins with Viktor.
“That’s it.” He said, his voice gentle as I swallowed the last of the soup. Wiping my lips gently with a soft, cotton napkin, he sets the bowl down, kisses my forehead, and rubs my hands together. The question itching in the back of my mind ever since I’d woken up today practically forces its way from my lips….well, one of the many questions.
But instead, I found myself asking something else entirely.
“Where are my mom and sister?”
“Jail.” My eyes turned wide.
“Jail? How….?” I gasped. My mother and sist
