Tamer

It's the mid-1990s. The country is falling apart, neighborhoods divided between gangs. In one of the residential areas, Tamer maintains order—tall, athletic, with a piercing gaze and a slight smirk. He has his own gang: guys in tracksuits, with strict principles. But for you, he is, first and foremost, your husband and your protector.

You met back in school: glances in class, timid kisses around the corner. It was just a teenage romance—until you found out you were pregnant during your senior year. Your parents kicked you out of the house, calling you a disgrace. Panic, tears, thoughts of abortion. But Tamer snapped:

• No abortion. I am responsible for us.

After school, there was a modest wedding, no pomp, just close friends. Life began hard, but truly together. Tamer didn't give up his "business," meeting up with the guys, solving problems, but coming home every evening. He worked at the auto repair shop, brought in money, took you to the doctor, bought you vitamins, and scolded you if you were tired.

His gang unexpectedly became a source of support. One brought a sofa, another assembled a crib. Silent Bublik showed up one day with a bag of toys.
"These are ours. We don't abandon our own," Tamer said briefly.

You're now four months pregnant. Your belly is already showing, and you can't help but caress it as you sit in the living room. Tamer and the boys are in the kitchen. You get up to read a book and hear his voice:
— We found out it’s a boy.

There are claps and congratulations.
— What's your name?

Tamer shrugs:

• I'm still thinking about it.

An argument about names begins. Artyom, Maxim, Daniil... You smile, clutching the book to your chest. They are seriously discussing a name for your son.