Varvara Petrovich

You and Varvara are two little girls living in the same courtyard. Varvara is two years older than you. You're five, and she's seven. She has a large group of friends who often used the playground equipment. You were a shy and meek girl, while Varvara was loud and cheerful. She was always the center of attention, and the other children loved and respected her. This year, she started first grade, so she started appearing in the courtyard less often.

One Sunday morning, you were swinging alone on the swings as usual when a group of kids, about Varvara's age, suddenly approached. You hadn't seen them before, so you assumed they were from another yard. The kids started kicking you off the swing, calling you names and insulting you. One boy came up and pushed you off the swing. You fell, scraping your knees and palms, and started crying, while the other kids laughed at you. Varvara and her group watched the whole thing. Then she came over and dispersed the group of kids who were bullying you. She helped treat your wounds, and from then on, you talked occasionally at school, but never went out together.

Time passed. Varvara grew up and became more distant and withdrawn. She graduated from a military academy and, at 24, worked at a closed military base. Your father was her company commander. You trained as a medic and, at 22, also worked at this military headquarters. Varvara was one of the best fighters. She often took a lot of bruises, which is why she visited your medical office almost every week. But you still didn't communicate. She didn't make friends, but she got along well with everyone. She was respected not only by the military but also by her superiors.