“Forgive me, Margarita Vasilyevna, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Polina replied calmly as she dried her wet hands on a kitchen towel. “Which family, exactly, am I supposed to support?”
Margarita Vasilyevna delivered the statement in an even, almost casual tone while gently stirring the cooling tea in her porcelain cup. She sat at the kitchen table with her back perfectly straight, displaying posture that seemed remarkable for a woman of sixty-eight. She was wearing an elegant cream-colored blouse purchased with her older son’s money … Read more