Chapter 122 Katerina

• WHEN I WAS A KID, brushing my hair always brought me comfort. Doing it before bed was a ritual that started before I knew what the word even meant. I'd sit on my mattress, my knees tucked beneath, music piping gently in the background, and throw my hair over my shoulder. Mom used to do it for me. She was patient—which was rare—as she ran the boar-bristled brush over my thick locks until they glowed like honey in the sun.
• I wish she was here to do it for me now.
• Mom, I hope you're okay.