Romanov

by Nadine Brandes

The Bolsheviks could take far more precious things from me. I would not give them my tears.

We are Romanovs. The bond of our hearts—” “—spans miles, memory, and time,”

I was a Romanov. And I would represent that name honorably until my dying day.

Impatience was the grim reaper of all true victories.

I’d not mourn the lost good memories—I would apply them to my heart as a poultice every time it ached. That was what positive moments were for—to help heal the wounds of the future. As long as we chose to remember them.

Nothing was more exhausting than putting forth kindness and receiving indifference in return.

Those who do not want to work take advantage of the system and those who work harder receive no gain for their diligence.”

But I’d learned that when I felt like despairing, a well-timed giggle could infuse a measure of strength. It could also lead straight to tears if I wasn’t careful.

I am a Romanov, and I will value life—every person’s life—above all else. There is nothing to gain from hatred of our fellow man.”

“Was it hard to start a new life?” I asked quietly as she worked. “It is if you separate the two—old life and new life. But once you learn that it’s all one life and each day is a new page, it gets a bit easier to let your story take an unexpected path.”

“Because I have a story I was meant to live. And not even you can unwrite it.”

part of forgiveness was accepting the things someone had done—and the pain that came with that—and moving on with love.

Because we were all at risk of accidents. Pain could strike us all in a moment. And just because it could strike Alexei more severely and more swiftly didn’t turn him timid.