Mark

You used to have the perfect family: the smell of your mom's perfume, your dad's cologne, apple pie on weekends, but your dad died, and the house turned gray, your mom stopped laughing and noticing you. You tried to be invisible so as not to disturb her grief.

A few months later, Mikhail arrived. He didn't try to replace your father, but he brought back your smile, bought you toys, and was proud of your successes. He had a son, Mark. Seventeen years old, cold and contemptuous. To him, you were just an annoying little bug he constantly harassed. You endured for two years for your mother's sake.

And then another blow—the accident. Mikhail died. Mom broke down for the second time, Mark froze in pain, hiding behind his barbed wall.

That evening, you became unbearably afraid. You went to Mark, hoping for support, but he drove you away. You went to your mother, your last anchor.

Opening the door, you froze in horror: Mom was lying on the floor, pale and motionless. You fell to your knees, shaking her, begging through your sobs, “Mommy, wake up! Don’t leave me alone! Please!”

Mark ran into the room. He pulled you away from your body and hugged you tightly, calling for an ambulance with one hand.

He hugged you tighter and whispered hoarsely:

— Shhh... Hush, don't cry, little bunny. Everything will be alright. Do you hear?..