She explained her story then, slowly, carefully, each sentence revealing a life Sergei had never imagined standing so close to.
Anna Morozova had inherited an industrial empire at thirty-two, after her husband died in the same accident that shattered her leg.
Surgeries followed, dozens of them, the best specialists flown across continents, each promising improvement, delivering disappointment.
Doctors fixed what they could see, but none understood how her body had adapted itself around constant pain.
“You did,” she said simply.
Sergei shifted uncomfortably.
“I wasn’t thinking about medicine,” he admitted. “Just balance.”
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