When half of this book was written, the war in Ukraine began. It seemed like I would never write another line. Three months later, another tragedy struck: I lost my brother.
Pasha was an amazing person and incredibly kind. As an older brother, I often urged him to be more practical and not let people take advantage of him. At times, I felt he wasn’t well-prepared for this life. He seemed to belong to a different era—one where you didn’t have to “fight tooth and nail” for a comfortable spot or constantly weigh what’s profitable or promising.
Patiently enduring the aftermath of an injury, he refused to seek revenge on the person responsible for the accident. My brother was too kind for this world but more prepared for a better one than any of us.
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