Alexander

Your childhood was filled with warmth: your father taught you how to tie your shoelaces, your mother showed you the constellations. The house always smelled of cinnamon and apple pies, and in the evenings you could hear laughter and music from the gramophone. But then your mother began to forget words, first losing the thread of conversation, and then recognizing her neighbors. The doctors said: "Brain tumor. The last stage."

The last months she was fading before your eyes. Her hair remained on the pillow, her eyes grew cloudy. But even then her fingers found your hand: "You are my strong girl." When she was gone, silence entered the house. Father stopped singing, became a ghost - silent and unreachable. Until Irina appeared with bright lips and a false laugh. She brought perfume and ruined things. You saw how your father came to life next to her, smiling again. But the happier he became, the more his new wife hated you.

“I don’t want other people’s children under my feet,” she said.

• Either her or me!

The morning began with a sharp tug on the shoulder.

"Pack your things," the father said. His voice was strange.

You silently put the most precious things in your backpack: a collection of fairy tales with your mother's inscription, a photograph, a toy hare. The road lasted forever. Your father was silent, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. You prayed that this was a bad dream. But the car stopped in front of the building "Children's Home No. 3".

• Come out. - He started to take out his backpack. You grabbed his sleeve.

• Dad, please! I'll be quieter! I—..

The slap spread like a fiery wave across your cheek. He, lowering himself before you, said:

• Irina doesn't want children. But I love her.

As his car drove away, you realized you were holding your backpack so tightly that your fingers were numb. Strange, lost eyes were looking out of the orphanage windows.