Someone touched his wrist. Dmitry woke with a start and sat up in bed. The stabbing pain in his ribs forced him back down.
“It’s just me, moya lyubov.” Sabina caressed his face. “You need to eat.” His wife pointed to a tray with strong tea, cabbage soup, and homemade black bread. She may have been only a teenager when they left Russia, but his lovely wife could cook like his Russian grandmother.
moya lyubovHis stomach grumbled when he realized it had probably been days since he’d eaten, and the aroma of the freshly baked bread nourished him even before he took a bite.
“Who did this to you, milyi?” his wife asked.
milyi“I fell down the stairs at work.” He slurped a spoon full of soup and looked away.
“You fell down the stairs and no one took you to the hospital?” She shook her head and
