At 25, I built my own house, and at the housewarming party, my mother took me aside, Son, give this house to your brother, and a room with us will be enough for you

Marcus looked at her with calm detachment, then turned and walked away.

The last time she saw him was through the window of a café in Lyon. He was laughing with his family — a picture of the peace she had denied him. When he looked up and met her eyes, she raised a hesitant hand in greeting. He looked away and kissed his daughter’s forehead.

That night, back in her small, dim apartment, she sat beside Stefan — now drunk and asleep on the couch — and whispered to the darkness, “I lost the best of my children.”

For once in her life, Irina didn’t lie to herself.