I wake up from too much light. It takes me a few seconds to find my bearings. I’m in the spare bedroom on the second floor of my parents’ dacha. With Anna. It must be at least nine thirty, judging by the amount of sunshine seeping through my still closed eyelids.

Wow. I never sleep this late, not even on the weekends. I stretch and grope for Anna. My aim is to cup her soft breast and feel her hard little nipple prod my palm. After that, I’ll move closer and smell the delicate skin where her neck joins her shoulder. It’s hands down the best way to start the day. I love the scent of her skin in the morning, when her floral perfume has worn off, and what’s left is just her essence—sweet, feminine, and a little bit sultry from our lovemaking.

But Anna isn’t there. I open my eyes and grab my watch from the night table. It is, indeed, nine thirty. She must be taking a shower or in the kitchen for coffee. Anna craves coffee as soon as she wakes up.

I remember last night. We had to be quieter than usual, with my parents’ bedroom just across the hallway. So, we got creative. We explored the last unchartered spots on each other’s body and tried new things. Anna came up with a few tricks and positions I particularly enjoyed. A few others I refused to even consider, knowing they would set off my sense of the ridiculous before they had a chance to trigger a sexual response.

She didn’t reject any of my suggestions, which pleased me to no end… but also bugged me.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to agree to everything,” I told her at some point. “I really don’t mind if you say no to something you don’t enjoy.”

She gave me a funny look then smiled. “I’m not afraid to go further with you than I do with others.”

“Why?”

“I know you’ll never hurt me physically.”

“How can you know that?”

Her eyes grew darker. “You’re right. I can’t know that, of course. But I trust you.” She stopped smiling. “I have faith that if I ask, you’ll stop any act straight away. Even if you’re wild about it.”

I cupped her cheeks. “As a man who despises irrational sentiments I feel compelled to warn you not to trust me. You should never trust someone you’ve known for only a couple of weeks.”

A light frown creased her brow, and I kissed it away before adding, “But your hunch is correct. I’ll never hurt you.”

I’m not sure why I didn’t confine my statement to the “physical” aspect as she had done.

I pull my pajama pants on, walk over to the window, and open the curtains. The front garden is buried under a thick layer of immaculate snow. The gravel paths, lawns, and flowerbeds are completely hidden from sight. The tree branches are white too, sparkling in sunlight and turning the garden into a magical place.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the kitchen where Mama is brewing coffee.

“Want a cup before everyone comes down to breakfast?” she asks.

“Yes, please.”

She chuckles, handing me my favorite mug.

“What’s so funny?”

“The look on your face. Let me end your misery, son. Anna is out back, playing with Gary’s boys.”

I raise the mug to my lips in a futile attempt to hide my relief from Mama.

Five minutes later, I pull on my sweater and race down the stairs to the back door. I open it to take a peep, and forget to close it, letting the frosty air invade the foyer. If someone asked me right now what century we were in, I’m not sure I’d be able to come up with the answer.

Anna is just a couple of meters from me, whistling happily as she fixes a carrot to the face of a snowman. The boys are making branch arms for it. Anna’s wool hat is covered in snow, her eyes are bright, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose are pink. She’s scrumptious.

“He needs eyes. I’ll go look for something suitable.” Gleb, the elder of the brothers, heads toward the orchard.

“Me too!” The little one drops everything and follows in Gleb’s steps.

A second later a snowball hits the back of Anna’s head. The kids giggle and run to the farthest end of the garden.

Anna narrows her eyes and hollers, “I’m coming after you little monsters, and when I catch you, expect no mercy!”

I watch her chase them.

“Here, put this on,” Mama says.

I turn around, take my coat from her, and put it on. The moment I turn back, a big snowball hits me between my eyes, exploding all over my face. I wipe it off and look around for the perpetrator. The kids are too far away, but Anna is just a few meters to my left, feigning interest in the fluffy clouds above her.

OK. If she thinks I won’t retaliate, she doesn’t know me well enough.

I flash a maniacal smile. “Anna. You. Will. Regret. This.”

I pull on Papa’s rubber boots over my wool socks and gather enough snow from the porch to form a large ball. The snow burns my gloveless hands, but I don’t care. I pack the ball a little more, keeping very calm, and then dash down the steps.

Anna lets out a squeal and starts running. But I’m faster. I catch up with her, grab her from behind, and smear the snowball on her forehead, cheeks, and mouth. She wriggles and shakes her head. I wrap my arms tightly around her, pinning her arms to her sides so she can’t clean the snow from her face.

“Beg for mercy,” I command.

“Please, Anton the Terrible,” she says in a comical voice. “Take pity on a weak, helpless woman!”

Before I open my mouth to say I’m feeling magnanimous but don’t try to attack me again, she sticks her foot out in some clever way and trips me.

As I fall, I drag her with me to the ground. Five seconds later, she’s on her back and I’m on top of her. With my right hand I shackle her wrists above her head, and with my left I clean the snow from her laughing face.

It’s at that precise moment that I become fully aware of the extent and the variety of trouble that I’m in. It’s huge. And it isn’t the kind that goes away by throwing enough energy or money on it.

I’m neck-deep in a sticky, debilitating kind of trouble.

The kind that could shatter the foundations of my world—the world I’ve painstakingly built over the years. The kind that could bring everything crumbling down and incapacitate me with pain and rage as Stacia’s infidelity did eleven years ago.

Only this time round, I’m older and less resilient. I may no longer find it in me to rebuild my life.

This time round, it may destroy me.