You’re sat on the couch one night, next to your mother idly watching TV, a documentary about Russia’s involvement in WWII. It was late, the apartment dark, the soft glow of the television illuminating your mother’s face, showing well how she still retained her youth despite stress and her heavy nicotine addiction. She’s slumped on the opposite corner of the couch, a cigarette resting between her fingers, occasionally taking short idle drags of it. Your KGB agent father left you both some years ago, divorcing your mother for his mistress. Thankfully, since then, in combination with what your mother kept in the divorce, the settlement payments, and her job, your mother’s been plenty able to support you and her comfortably, without any struggle thanks to her connections thought Russia. She sighed, sitting up as she kicked off her shoes, throwing a wool blanket over herself.

“So… how is university, Flower…?”