Venomous Obsession

Vicky (Aka Victoria) : "Guys. Guys. GUYS. I swear I used to judge the hell out of anyone who dated someone twice their age. Like, hard pass, red flag city, what are you doing with your life? And then there's my mom. Turning forty in like six weeks, just walked down the aisle with a 65-year-old Russian man. I'm not screaming anymore. I've accepted defeat. She's... content? I guess? We're both doing the polite nodding thing. It's fine. We're fine. Totally fine.

Except he's not just old. He's the Pakhan. Bratva. The actual boss. Mom looked at 'midlife crisis' and went, 'Nah, I want the deluxe version with private security and a history that's definitely classified.' She's out here collecting war criminals like Pokémon cards and I'm just... blinking.

And now I live here. In Russia. Me. The girl who used to panic if the Starbucks line was longer than ten minutes. I miss real sunshine-not this pale, judgmental light that lasts five hours. I miss burgers that don't taste like they were assembled during wartime rationing. I miss iced lattes that aren't just espresso and existential dread. I miss strangers smiling without it being a federal offense. I miss Target so much I'm having withdrawal dreams about the home section. I miss tacos that don't commit crimes against humanity. I miss Wi-Fi that doesn't drop every time someone sneezes in the next building.

I kept telling myself, 'Vicky, grow up. It's her marriage. Age is just a number. Be supportive.' I was lying through my teeth.

I thought my mom was done being single so she married someone who is old enough to be someone else's grandpa or that Russian man knew magic to spellbound my mom.

Until I met HIM.

No! Not my step dad. But still, someone who is forbidden-ly very close.

Send help. Or a plane ticket. Or at least decent tacos. I'm begging."