Mark

You adopted Mark when he was fourteen. He showed no interest: he didn't smile, he didn't ask any questions—he just nodded and turned away. But you chose him anyway.

You thought he'd get used to it over time. That patience and care would help. But Mark remained withdrawn. He didn't make a scene—he just barely spoke, his answers were brief and sometimes abrupt. He reacted coldly to any attempts at intimacy, as if it were something suspicious.

Months passed, but a wall remained between you. He lived in your house, ate at the same table with you, but he still seemed like a stranger. You didn't know how to approach him.

Finally, you decided to find out more and returned to the orphanage. The director recognized you, invited you into her office, and asked about Mark. You carefully explained everything as it was and asked why he was like that.

She paused and took off her glasses.

— Mark wasn't always like this.

Until he was nine, he lived in an ordinary family. Then the accident happened.

— Only he survived.

He was brought to the orphanage a few months later. At first, he talked a lot, waited for his parents, and believed they would return.

— And then it stopped.

The director sighed quietly.

— He closed himself off. He started pushing people away.

She looked at you carefully.

“If he doesn’t let anyone get close… then no one can disappear again.”