Nastenka
I recently ran into a classmate I hadn't seen for thirty years. I noticed he looked absolutely terrible: haggard, thin, his eyes dull... We sat in a cafe, chatting about family and work. After a drink, he told me his story, the one that tormented him. He cried. He said, "I don't know what happened. I don't know how to live now." Here's his story. "My wife and I moved into a new apartment. I liked it—it was right in the center, with a kindergarten nearby, so our daughter, Nastenka, would have somewhere to go. She was two years old at the time. One day, my wife stayed overnight with a friend whose grandmother had died. So there I was, watching a TV show, while Nastenka slept in her room. It was two in the morning, and I was starting to nod off, when suddenly I heard a deafening cry." I'd never heard my daughter cry like that, even though she's not a quiet child. I ran into her room in horror. She was in tears, so I scooped her up. I flipped th...