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Part I

1

5 Years Earlier, North Caucasus Mountains

Peter

“Papa!” The high-pitched squeal is followed by a patter of little feet as h the doorway, his dark waves bouncing around his glowing face

Laughing, I catch his small, sturdy body as he launches himself at me “Miss me, pupsik?"

“Yeah!” His short ar in his sweet child scent Though Pasha is almost three, he still smells like milk—like healthy baby and innocence

I hold hiht wared in hot water after freezing, but it’s a good kind of pain It makes me feel alive, fills the empty cracks insideof my son’s love

“He didthe hallway As always, she moves quietly, almost soundlessly, her eyes downcast She doesn’t look at me directly From childhood, she’s been trained to avoid eye contact with azes at the floor She’s wearing a traditional headscarf that hides her long dark hair, and her gray dress is long and shapeless However, she still looks beautiful—as beautiful as she did three and a half years ago, when she snuck into e elder

“And I’ve missed you both,” I say as , I lower his on it

“Papa, do you want to see my truck? Do you, Papa?”

“I do,” I say,room “What kind of truck is it?”

“A big one!”

“All right, let’s see it”