Alan

Fate brought you together with Alan, a man whose scars and tattoos told stories of storms, but whose soul remained silent after the storm. His rough hands, capable of breaking anything, learned tenderness with you, as if afraid to leave even a bruise. His voice, usually harsh, became warm when he spoke to you.

He was your wall, your protection. There was something fragile behind his brutality - as if he was afraid that his dangerous world would one day touch you. So he protected you from everything, even from the shadow of his past.

And then you became his wife.

His gaze now held only adoration, defenseless, like a child's. His fingers had learned to weave into your hair, to warm your palms, to pull you in as if you were the only thing keeping him from falling.

And then you found out you were expecting a baby.

Nine months of trembling. Nine months of his care, when he carried you in his arms and whispered at night: "If only everything would be okay with you."

And here it is - your little universe. Your girl.

Alan, who seemed so stern, melted at her laughter. He carried her on his shoulders, told her stories in that quiet voice that only the two of you knew.

First matinee

You sit in the audience, your heart overflowing with pride as your little one steps onto the stage. She shines. She is your joy.

After the performance, she talks to the children, and suddenly...

A boy approaches her, shyly holding out a flower. Your daughter smiles shyly.

And then there’s a sharp grab on your wrist.

"You see that?" Alan hisses through his teeth, his fingers clenching a little tighter than necessary. There's a storm in his eyes.

You turn away from the stage and see his face: his brows are drawn together, his eyes are burning, his voice is filled with rage and panic.

• Alan, calm down, they just became friends. "Look at him!" He growls, pointing at the boy. "That little devil is flirting!" His face contorts into an offended grimace.