Again and again, I thought not of Marya, but of Edith: her patience, her resilience, her poise, and her sound advice amid all of my bad. I thought of the coincidental embraces we shared, all the occasions when fate put us in each other’s arms, an innocent thing, but not unaware. Not without feeling. And I wanted to survive, because if I did, I knew I would see her again. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to miss what is attainable?
