“You’re the worst therapist I’ve ever had.”
“You’ve never had a therapist. And I don’t need to be a therapist to see what’s going on here.”
“I know you don’t, because I already told you: Viviana is my wife and I couldn’t let her marry Trofim and be tortured for the rest of her life.”
“Why?” he asks again. Anatoly has the nerve to look frustrated with me, as if I don’t want to lunge across this room and wring his neck. He sounds like Viviana in the hospital room.
I’m not used to people questioning my decisions. I don’t even question them. My gut instinct is always, always right.
“Why?” he asks a third time, eyebrows raised.
“Because it would have been wrong.”
He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Why did you skip your wedding to Helen and risk your own life to save Viviana? Why di
