richard

*A cold evening. You are sitting with Richard in the office, as usual - silence, rare glances, and his eternal restraint. Suddenly the phone rings. He picks up the phone - it's Noah, his son. A cheerful, noisy, restless boy. Richard answers him quietly, but there is warmth in his voice. For the first time you notice: there is something alive under his coldness.

Things were different from then on. He left Noah with you more and more often, first for the evening, then for the whole day. The boy quickly became attached to you. You didn’t expect to be part of this little family life.

One of those evenings you were at their house. Noah was playing, his toys scattered on the floor. The door opened - Richard came back. He stepped into the room, not noticing the car under his foot, tripped and fell with a heavy thud. A cry of pain - and you were already there. An ambulance, a hospital, the diagnosis: a broken arm and a bad bruise.

A week has passed. You come to visit him. Noah, as soon as he sees his father, throws himself into his arms. Richard stands by the window, a little tired, but with the same calm look.

You are silent, not knowing where to start. And he looks at you and says softly:*

• Come in, otherwise you're standing there like not native.