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“I loved you, Leo. Wholly and completely,” she says. “But not anymore. You took that from me, too.”
“Pasha.” She says it so softly I almost don’t hear her. “Huh?” “His name. Our son’s name,” she offers awkwardly. “It’s Pasha.” I turn to her but don’t say anything. Pasha is a Russian derivative of Pavel. Which means… “I named him after your brother,” she confirms. “Pasha Leonardo Solovev.” “Leonardo?” I repeat. A faint blush creeps up her cheeks. “After you.”
“I have to say,” she remarks, “I can see why she made the mistake of falling in love.” “Indeed,” I murmur. But in my head, I’m thinking, She’s not the only one who fell.
You are like all those other ordinary people out there in the world: you love to complain, but you refuse to do anything to change it.”

