Each move he made solidified in her mind what trap he was trying to set. It wasn't that well known of a trap, but she had seen it plenty of times. But she waited for him to feel as though he had gotten her before she made the counter move that would show she knew what she was doing, that she had seen what he was doing. It was the beauty of traps in the game, really. Moves could seem so inconsequential and then there was the one move that made everything make sense. And at the correct moment, Svetlana sprung her counter move. Most times, the counter move for this trap was merely defensive. But not Svetlana. She had managed to find a way to make the move offensive. To take control.
"No, there is not. Some people find it as a means to make money, become famous. They lose the point of the game itself...." Anatoly had lost sight of the game. Even though he said that it was the only thing he could be true to, he had given into the prestige, the fame. It wasn't just a game for him anymore. It wasn't a way that the two could converse and enjoy themselves anymore. It wasn't about the pieces, it was about the politics and expectations. She never would have been able to handle it. But Molokov had all but erased her from the picture, using her when he saw fit. And then her husband left and she was at the man's mercy. The mercy of the people who expected so much and scorned her for obviously failing to keep Anatoly in Russia. The pain and humiliation. They never bothered the girls, for even those in Moscow were not so heartless as to blame the children. But Svetlana? Oh, blame her they could and they did.