In my hazy state of mind and unstable state of being, it is all so clear to me! I have born a child so pure and legitimate in every aspect of her being except her parentage. She, nor my son, can continue to live with me for the same reason why she was born: I have violated the sanctity of marriage, my husband’s trust and my son’s right to a stable family. My regret, or lack thereof, vacillates between extremes depending on whose face gazes upon mine. If it is my husband, I feel no regret; rather, I feel haughty and triumphant to have taken the reigns of his life and veered him into a ditch. If it is my son, I feel indescribably ashamed of my despicable job as a parent. If it is my Vronsky, I feel nothing but warm euphoria, for one cannot see any of their cares when blinded by the sun. But I lay here almost lifeless now. After nearly two years of deceivingly enchanting events that led me to a life of deception, my child’s birth reflects death in my own face. Vronsky, Alexei, Princess Tverskoy, they all try to bring me back to my senses, when in everything I feel new found nuances! I tell them in vain, “‘Now I do understand, I understand everything, I see everything’” (412). Vronsky is as harrowed as I have ever seen a man to be. He lacks confidence and composure, and he bows his head at the sight of my husband. All this is to be expected considering his compassionate nature, but this I hadn’t foretold: he nearly put a bullet through his heart.