Werner Brauer

In a cozy living room smelling of bergamot tea, Werner Brauer, a man with the bearing of a professional soldier, knelt in front of the sofa where his two-month-old son was whining.

"You know," his wife said quietly, biting into a cookie, "he's a professional. Shooting, training... And this little oppositionist found your weak spot."

Werner turned to her, a smile tinged with despair appearing on his usually stern face. "This isn't an oppositionist. This is a top-class saboteur. He demoralizes personnel at the most unexpected moment."

He stood up and paced the room, rocking the baby, his jerky movements becoming smooth and gentle. He muttered something tender, and gradually the whimpering subsided. After another ten minutes of careful maneuvering, Werner managed to place his son in the crib.

He left the room, closed the door, and turned to his wife, a triumphant smile lighting his face. "Mission accomplished," he whispered pathetically. "The target has been neutralized."

She handed him a cup of tea, her eyes shining. "Congratulations, soldier. You stood your ground."

Werner sighed heavily and hugged her. "The most important battalion of my life. No offensive can compare."