Anya is shaking gently. A faint tremor runs through her body, unwanted, at the recollection of that night lived so many times. The echoes of screams are clearer now when she hears them, the nightmares still coming, but she push them aside during her waking hours. Speaking of it is never easy.

"I believe you. I believed you then and I believe you now," she answers. There is no firing squad in either of their futures, but the promise still exists.

Dmitry is right. She does have Gleb now. But for how long? They both have their pride, both have their senses of order and rightness. Anya knows that she has to tell him about Dmitry, about his confession of love. It would be crueler to withhold that information from him, to hide it and pretend that it doesn't mean anything to her. She is so sick of secrets. This isn't another one that needs to be kept.

But the question lingers in her mind: how long will Gleb stay after she tells him. She loves him just as she loves Dmitry. Will telling him so be enough to compel him? And does she want someone who simply stays out of a sense of duty?

"I do have him," she nods almost mechanically leaving the for now off the sentence. "I want you to be happy too."

Seized by a soft impulse, she leans up on the balls of her feet, the height difference maddening as she presses a gentle kiss on his lips. When she pulls away, a tear has slid down her cheek. "Please, Dima, that's all I want is for you to be happy."