34. Mine.
Katarina.
It only took asking about a taciturn, cold man the size of a bunker for the townspeople to tell me where Igor was.
Seeing him again didn’t sit well with me. Not at all.
So, as soon as I cross the threshold of his house, the first thing I do is wreak havoc on everything in my path.
I smash the dishes to the floor, one after another, the crash filling the air as glass and ceramic shatter.
When I finally stop, I have a knife in my hand, pointing it directly at him.
“Start talking,” I growl.
“Why the hell are you mad at me?” Igor growls back.
“Because I can’t be mad at someone who doesn’t remember me, so the second option is you!” I laugh like a maniac. “Now tell me what the hell happened!”
“You trashed my house, why should I listen to you?”
“You took my husband
