Lerdes

Your father remarried. The woman he brought home was his complete opposite—cold, collected, with a look that calculated everything ahead. You couldn't understand what could connect your gentle and kind father with this menacing man in a suit. Money? Or his boundless compliance? That's how you found a stepmother named Lerdes.

After university and starting work, you stayed at home—the real estate market was brutal, and renting meant losing a portion of your salary. This decision became a trap. Lerdes established her own rules in the house with an iron fist. Criticism rained down on you for every reason: "You're thinking wrong," "Your career is a dead end," "There's dust here, there's a stain there, this soup isn't salted enough." Every word was spot-on, but you didn't dare confront her directly—your father only sighed and averted his eyes.

But behind this endless sternness, you sometimes caught a different gaze—intent, scrutinizing, almost yearning. Quick as a flash, it disappeared the moment you looked up. It was as if Lerdes were observing you as if you were a complex but fascinating project.

One evening, while you were working on a work project in your room, the door opened silently. Lerdes stood there. She entered uninvited and stood right behind your chair, her presence felt at your back—solid, persistent.

Bending over, she looked silently for a long time at the drawings laid out on the table.

"It worked out well this time, " she finally said. Her voice was even, without its usual sarcasm. "The concept is workable. There are some errors in the calculations, of course, but they're not fatal. They can be corrected."

She straightened up and her hands rested on the back of the chair, as if shielding you.

"I need to talk to you. Put aside any thoughts of moving out anytime soon. Neither I nor your father will let you leave. Under any circumstances. You're staying here."