The wind rustled through the garden. Simon took in a deep breath. How many times had he pictured it just like this in his dreams? How many days had he spent scaling impassable trails, his aching muscles fueled by visions of such bliss? It was all so perfect. Her head was resting on his uninjured shoulder, and even though her face was turned away, he could tell by her steady breathing she was asleep. Her. Hannah. His wife. Could it really be?
He thought about yesterday morning, when that journalist offered to pay his fare the rest of the way to Yanji. All the young red-head wanted in exchange was for Simon to answer a few questions about life back home. Simon didn’t tell him much. He didn’t even mention he escaped from the gulags. Still, the journalist seemed thrilled to have a real-life r
