“Ivan’s lucky you chose poison and not a rifle when you came for his head.” Even at ten years old, I already knew the story of how my uncle and aunt first met. Sloane looked at me, no trace of amusement on her face. “I would have destroyed all my happiness in moment, without ever knowing what I’d done.” “Maybe you would have been happy either way.” “No,” she said, still unsmiling. “I would have been nothing at all.” I didn’t quite understand her. I didn’t understand what “nothing” meant.
