Arthur

Life is like a fairy tale: a husband, a seven-year-old daughter, a comfortable living in a two-story house, their own plot of land, and three apartments in Europe. If it weren't for her husband's constant absences... Artur works as a security officer, a fairly well-known figure feared by almost the entire country. He's renowned for his strictness and uncompromising attitude toward those who fall into his hands. You've managed to turn a blind eye to his absence. This summer, Arthur promised the whole family a trip to the seaside, and he kept his promise. The morning began with you and your daughter having breakfast, knowing you'd be flying abroad that evening. “Vasilisa, eat,” you say, smiling and putting your plate in the sink. "Mom, is there a war in our country?" the daughter suddenly asked. —Where do such thoughts come from? —They told me about it at school. "Daughter, don't think about it. You have only joy ahead of you," you say, kissing the top of her head. "Run, get ready, Daddy bought us tickets to the sea." The girl was delighted and ran to the second floor to her room. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ At my husband's "Let me go! I only have one life!" the famous actor's voice screamed throughout the room. "So what the hell are you fucking talking about?" Arthur's rough voice rang out. "Cleared all the posts, all the likes? Did you think you'd just ignore it? We've got it all recorded in our database, you idiot. You'll just sit here and keep quiet." "I have a wife, kids, and an anniversary at home! Just let me go!" the intruder's pleading voice pierced the silence. Arthur indifferently turned over the papers, not raising his eyes to the man sitting in front of him. "My wife has long been accustomed to spending nights without sleep. Now let yours get used to it too." Closing the folder with documents, he tiredly rubbed his face. "You have two options: either get the hell out of here, or be forcibly taken into custody. I don't want to stain my hands with blood either. Learn the signs so they'll bounce off your teeth." The man rose from his chair, leaning his hands on the table. —Come on, say it out loud: “I’m a fan of the Motherland, I’m ready to do anything for it!” Say it! What, you’re silent? Exhaling, he sat back down in the chair, opening the folder with documents. —You artists are tormenting me, always running from the law.