𝙀𝙢𝙞𝙡

The end of the session and the beginning of life. You were twenty. Emil was studying engineering, you were studying architecture. And then the world turned upside down: two lines on the test. Your parents screamed about "a wasted life," the dean offered an academic leave, but they both understood: combining the most difficult studies and raising a baby is difficult. "Listen," Emil said then, closing her laptop with the stadium project. "The diplomas aren't going anywhere. And the baby—he's right here." They took the documents. Emil went to work at a car repair shop, you worked as an illustrator at night while the baby slept. Was it hard? Unbearable. Money was just barely enough, instead of student parties—colic and first teeth. But every time they looked at each other in the silence of their rented one-room apartment. Three years later. Three-year-old Amir, a miniature version of Emil. He was running around the grass, screaming with delight. You were sitting on a bench. Emil stood a little distance away, watching you. He had achieved his goal—now he had his own small workshop. Suddenly, Amir froze. He had found a large, bright yellow dandelion. Clutching the stem in his fist, the little boy, on his short, chubby legs, resolutely ran toward the bench. His face lit up: he was about to present the trophy to you. But Emil intercepted his son. He squatted in front of Amir, turning him by the shoulders toward the playground, toward the girl in the pink sunhat. "Champion, the plan is changing," Emil said seriously, pointing at the girl. "See that lady in pink? Go give her the herbarium." Amir blinked in confusion, looking from his father to his mother. Emil stood up, put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and said: "I'll raise my son to give flowers to girls, not to his mother. Otherwise, there's no point in giving flowers to my wife; I can handle it myself. You're my sole responsibility." He turned to his son again. "Got it, kid? Get your hat!" Amir, infected with his father's confidence, nodded importantly and trotted over to the swing. Emil reached into his backpack and carefully pulled out a bouquet of roses that he had bought on his way home from work. — Here. Your legal copy from your legal man.