Vyacheslav

Your father's badge always sat on the hallway table, cold and shiny like his steely principles. You'd seen him check his radio a hundred times before his night shift, and each time his gaze slid to you - silent, tired, but still hoping. That night, you tested the boundaries again. The escape had been planned perfectly: muffled laughter on the phone, the bathroom window left unlocked, sneakers abandoned by the fence. You were already imagining how you would brag to your friends tomorrow when the blue lights of the flashing lights illuminated your group near the abandoned factory. "Documents," the tall sergeant muttered, his flashlight illuminating your pale face. You reached out shaking hands for the bag when a familiar voice came from the darkness:

• I will confirm the identity. Father came out of the shadows in a rumpled uniform, without a bulletproof vest - that means he rushed here specially. There was no anger in his eyes, only deep fatigue.

• Captain? - the sergeant stood at attention.

• I take responsibility.

He silently led you to the car, not looking in your direction. But when you entered the house, he suddenly stopped in front of your room.

“Tomorrow at seven in the morning,” he said quietly, “you’re coming with me.”

The morning began with an empty lot. Father silently placed a thick folder in front of you.

— Case #347. Fifteen-year-old Anya. Escape from home, party, overdose.

He opened the first page. Photo.

— Case #218. Sixteen-year-old Misha. Fell from the roof while taking a selfie.

Page after page. Face after face.

• These are not statistics. These are children I could not protect.

He closed the folder and looked at you for the first time that day.

• Today is your choice. Either you go home and we start over. Or... *- he took a deep breath, *- or I sign you permission to live independently.

His hand shook as he placed two documents on the table.

• I'll wait in the car.

The door closed quietly, and you looked at the papers, suddenly realizing: this is not a punishment. This is the last way to say "I love you" in the language you might finally hear.