This wasn’t normal.
Not for the Mishka I once knew.
The Mishka I grew up beside was a storm with teeth—
selfish, entitled, arrogant.
She snatched attention like a spoiled child, demanded hands and eyes on her at all times, and if denied, she lashed out.
Her manners were forged from privilege, not kindness.
She didn’t speak—she barked.
Didn’t request—she demanded.
And when words failed, she used fists until the room bent around her temper.
She was a responsibility, not a person.
But this Mishka?
This woman standing before me with flushed cheeks and a book clutched to her chest…
She was human.
She was emotional in a way the old one never allowed herself to be.
She communicated her fear instead of drowning us in performance.
She apologized—apologized—with sincerity instead of m
