I can’t hear Lukas fussing upstairs—especially not over the sound of fizzing and crunching in my ears—but I still scarf it down quickly so I can hurry back up.
I imagine there are a lot of things I’ll be doing quickly over the next few years. Without anyone else to help out, there won’t be much time to take care of myself.
Dima’s face pops into my mind again, but I push it away.
Running from attackers and leading a Bratva don’t leave much time for taking care of a family, I imagine. Even if he could have stuck around, it wouldn’t have changed anything.
The man who barged into my clinic with a gun can never be a father, a partner, a family man.
I say it to myself again: “It’s for the best that he’s gone.”
When I’m finished, I wash my bowl, dry it, and put it back in the cabinet to hid
