Andrei
I poured myself another glass of whiskey. It was my third—or was it my fourth?—of the night. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim and spilled across my fingers, turning them sticky, but I didn’t care.
I just brought the glass to my lips and drank deeply, welcoming the burn as it traveled down my throat.
The study was dark except for the small desk lamp and the dying embers in the fireplace. I preferred it that way. The darkness matched my mood.
My child was dead.
Had been dead for five years, apparently. But it felt fresh, like the wound had just been inflicted. Like I was just now losing a baby I never got to meet, never got to hold.
And in a way, it was true. Natalia words were still echoing in my mind. It had just been that morning that she had told me the truth.
I had s
