Simon is your husband

You are sitting in the kitchen, sorting through clean plates, when your son suddenly sits down opposite you.

He wrinkles the sleeve of his sweater, is silent for a long time, and you understand that now he is going to say something important.

“I like the girl,” he finally admits. “But let her make the first steps. She is a girl.”

You open your mouth to answer, but you don’t have time. The sound of his fist on the table makes you flinch - your husband, who has been silent until now, rises and his voice breaks the silence.

“Fight for her. Die for her. For the high masts, For the stolen yards. For the autumn highways, For her images. For the hot valleys, Cold adornments.

The son freezes, looking at his father with wide-open eyes. You see how childish stubbornness and something new are fighting in him - adult, hot, almost brave. And you remain silent. Because you understand: these are the words he will remember, and not your advice.

In the evening, you look into his room - the son is sitting with the phone, smiling and typing something.