17
Nikolai
I abstain for all of fifteen minutes after I get to my office. I check my email, pay a few invoices, fire off a reply to one of my accountants. Then, cursing under my breath, I turn up the sound on my laptop and bring up the camera feed from my son’s room.
As expected, Chloe is there, having finished her task in the laundry. Hungrily, I watch as she plays cars and trucks with Slava, speaking to him the entire time as if he can understand her. Every once in a while, she points at something like a wheel and makes Slava repeat the English word after her, but for the most part, she just talks—and Slava listens to her raptly, as fascinated by her facial expressions and gestures as I am.
At one point, he laughs at the way his truck overtakes her car, and she grins and ruffles his
