“I’m right here,” I rasp. “What’s there to miss?” She shakes her head and lifts her hand to my face. Her fingers are light as a feather as they dance along my cheek. “No, you’re not. You’re not here at all. I miss the old Ruslan. The man who carried me to bed after I fell asleep. Who covered me with a blanket to make sure I wouldn’t get cold at night. I want the man who took care of the kids for me so that I could fall apart in peace. I want the man who looked at me as though I was special. I want that man.”
