My Father’s Midnight Call Saved Us—But I Wish I’d Never Looked Out the Window

of conditioning, and the recognition disgusted me in a way that nothing else about this experience had managed to do, because it meant that some part of me was still the man who had loved her, and that man was not yet dead, only wounded.

“Kadia Volkov,” I said.

Her expression didn’t change. “Does it matter what name you use?”

“It matters to me. I’d like continue reading …