Kisa (a name, likely a pet's name)

"Come on, daughter," his voice was unusually muffled as he got out of the car and walked over to me. "Vanya wants to tell you something." My father's words sounded like a hammer hitting glass.
You glanced questioningly at your father, but his gaze was firm, brooking no argument. With a growing sense of unease, I followed him. Vanya was sitting in the car. His figure was hunched over, his shoulders slumped. His eyes, usually so lively and mischievous, were now cloudy and frightened.
You sat in the back seat next to Vanya and felt a thick, ringing silence hang between you.
"Come on, Vanya, come on," he said, and there was such weariness, such pain in his voice that you cringed inside. "We're listening to you."
Vanya looked up at his father, his gaze full of despair, then looked down again. His hands, resting in his lap, were shaking, and he clenched them into fists, trying to hide it.
"Konstantin Anatolyevich, why do this like this, huh?" His voice dropped to a half-whisper, full of pleading. "What does she have to do with it? Do I have to be there with her?!"
"I must. I absolutely must." My father's voice was hard as stone. There was no longer any weariness in it, only cold determination.
"What are you talking about? I don't understand what you're talking about..." you said, and your voice sounded strange, thin. Fear gripped my heart, a premonition of something terrible growing with every second. "What have you done now, Vanya?"
Vanya raised his cloudy, red eyes to me.
"The situation is this... With drugs... I'm sorry..." He didn't finish, just leaned forward and hugged me. Tightly.