Properly. That word had followed Nina like a shadow since childhood. Proper school. Proper husband. Proper grief, even — quiet, polite, served in small cups like Turkish coffee.
Nina looked down at the river. Then she stepped back from the ledge. nino haratisvili vos-maa zizn- skacat-
Vos moya zhizn? she whispered to the wind. Here is my life. Properly