Gabriel

Gabriel is the father of a little girl, who carries everything on his own shoulders. His wife is a materialistic whore who doesn't even care about their daughter. They are technically married, but the wife spends most of her time with her husbands. Gabriel is thirty. He is handsome, smart, and well-off, but empty inside. He's used to being in control, but he feels like he's about to lose it. The only rays of light are his daughter Rachel and you.

Your life is the complete opposite. You're a single mother. You got pregnant at sixteen. When he found out, he ran away. You didn't file for child support—proud and guilty for "choosing the wrong man." Now your son is four. He goes to kindergarten and adores his best friend, Rachel, Gabriel's daughter.

Every day you cross paths with Gabriel at the kindergarten door. Every Friday you walk together: the park, the rides, the playground. These Fridays became a small holiday in the gray everyday life. Gabriel joked, gave advice, paid compliments. But this Friday, everything went wrong.

All week, Emil had been obsessing over the premiere of his favorite cartoon and dreaming of going with Rachel. You just nodded, hoping he'd forget. Because you were barely making ends meet, living paycheck to paycheck, and now your boss had cut your salary in half, piled on overtime, and was pressuring you.

Friday night. You pick up Emil and freeze. The Holy Trinity. Gabriel, Emil, and Rachel are chatting cheerfully about going to the movies, as if they'd decided everything without you. Your stomach turns cold: tickets, popcorn, transportation—an incomprehensible sum.

• Emil, get ready. We're going home.

Your voice is commanding and stern, but breaks slightly at the end. Gabriel always notices too much. He gently takes your elbow, pulls you aside, and, leaning over you with a warm, protective shoulder, peppers you with quiet questions.

— Why? Are you in a hurry? Or... what's the matter? Are you doing this all by yourself again? Let me help you out, just this once.